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THE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY 



EDITED BY 
WILL D. HOWE 

PBOFESSOB OF ENGLISH AT INDIANA UNIVEBSIT7 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

AND 

JONATHAN EDWARDS 



The Modern Student^s Library 

Published by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SOUS 



THE ORDEAL OF RICHAItD FEVEREU 
By George Meredith. 

THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS. 

By William Makepeace Thackeray. 
THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. 

By Thomas Hardy. 
BOSWELL'S LIFE OF JOHNSON. 
ADAM BEDE. 

By George Eliot. 
ENGLISH POETS OF THE EIGHTEENTH 

CENTURY. 
THE RING AND THE BOOK. 

By Robert Browning. 
PAST AND PRESENT. 

By Thomas Carlyle. 
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. 

By Jane Austen. 
THE HEi^RT OF MID-LOTHIAN. 

By Sir Walter Scott. 
THE SCARLET LETTER. 

By Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
THE ESSAYS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEV- 

ENSON. 
NINETEENTH CENTURY LETTERS. 
THE ESSAYS OF ADDISON AND STEELE. 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN AND JONATHAN 

EDWARDS. 

Selections from their writings. 
SELECTIONS AND ESSAYS BY JOHN 

RUSKTN. 
AN ESSAY ON COMEDY. 

By George Meredith. 
BACON'S ESSi^YS. 

THE ESSAYS OF RALPH WALDO EM- 
ERSON (Selected) 
A WEEK ON THE CONCORD AND 

MERRIMACK RIVERS 
By Henry David Thoreau 
Each small 12mo. Net $1.00. 

Other volumes in preparation 



THE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

AND 

JONATHAN EDWARDS 

SELECTIONS FROM THEIR WRITINGS 

EDITED* WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
BY 

CARL VAN DOREN 



CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON 



< 



Copyright, 1920, by 
CHAELES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



APR -6 1920 



CI.A566391 



^ 



PAGE 



CONTENTS 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

DoGOOD Papers. No. IV 1 

DoGooD Papers. No. VII 4 

Articles of Belief and Acts of Religion .... 8 

The Busy-Body. No. 3 . . . 14 

The Busy-Body. No. 4 17 

The Busy-Body. No. 8 22 

A Dialogue Between Philocles and Horatio . . 27 

A Second Dialogue Between Philocles and Horatio 32 

A Witch Trial at Mount Holly 37 

An Apology for Printers . 38 

Letter from Anthony Afterwit 44 

Letter from Celia Single 47 

Letter from Alice Addertongue 49 

A Meditation on a Quart Mugg 54 

A True Prognostication, for 1739 56 

Shavers and Trimmers 58 

To THE PUBLICK 61 

To John Franklin, at Boston 62 

Advice to a Young Tradesman 63 

Exporting of Felons to the Colonies 65 

The Way to Wealth 67 

To Mrs. Jane Mecom 76 

To the Printer of the London Chronicle .... 78 

Of the Meanes of Disposing the Enemie to Peace . 79 

To Miss Mary Stevenson 83 

To the Editor of a Newspaper 86 

V 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To Mrs. Deborah Franklin 88 

To Miss Mary Stevenson 90 

To Peter Franklin 96 

The Craven-Street Gazette 100 

To Miss Georgiana Shipley 106 

^An Edict by the King of Prussia 107 

^^ Rules by which a Great Empire may be Reduced to a 

Small One 112 

A Parable Against Persecution . . . . . . . 119 

A Parable on Brotherly Love 121 

To William Strahan 122 

The Sale of the Hessians 122 

Model of a Letter of Recommendation .... 124 

A Dialogue Between Britain, France, Spain, Holland, 

Saxony and America 125 

A Madame Helvetius 128 

The Ephemera 129 

Morals of Chess 131 

The Whistle 134 

The Lord's Prayer 137 

The Levee 139 

Proposed New Version of the Bible 141 

A Monsieur l'Abbe de la Roche, 1 Auteuil . . . 142 

A Monsieur l'Abbe Morellet 144 

Dialogue Between Franklin and the Gout . . . 146 

The Handsome and Deformed Leg 151 

Supplement to the Boston ''Independent Chronicle" 153^ 

Apologue . 161 

To Mrs. Sarah Bache 163 

An Economical Project 168 

To Samuel Mather 173 

To Mason Weems and Edward Gant 174 



CONTENTS vii 

PAGE 

Remarks Concerning the Savages of North America 176 

A Petition of the Left Hand, to those who have the 

superintendency of education 182 

The Art of Procuring Pleasant Dreams . . . . 183 

Motion for Prayers in the Convention .... 187 

To THE Editor of the '^Federal Gazette " : A Compari- 
son OF THE Conduct of the Ancient Jews and of 
THE Anti-Federalists in the United States of 

i America 189 

\ An Account of the Supremest Court of Judicature in 

Pennsylvania, viz., the Court of the Press . 193 

To Ezra Stiles 196 

^f^N THE Slave-Trade 199 

JONATHAN EDWARDS 

The Flying Spider . . . . . 203 

Notes on the Mind: 

Excellency 208 

Notes on Natural Science: 

Of the Prejudices of the Imagination .... 220 

Of Being 222 

Things to be Considered, or Written Fully About: 

Continuous Creation 227 

The Growth of Trees 227 

Thunder - 232 

Resolutions ....... " 234 

Diary 241 

Sarah Pierrepont 274 

A Faithful Narrative of the Surprising Work of God 
IN THE Conversion of Many Hundred Souls in 

Northampton 274 

Personal Narrative 344 

To Lady Pepperell 358 

To THE Trustees of Nassau Hall . . . . . . 364 



XI 



INTRODUCTION 



The careers of Benjamin Franklin and Jonathan 
Edwards, most considerable among American writers of 
the eighteenth century, for more years than have been 
noted were almost as nearly parallel as they were impres- 
sively divergent later, when the contrast between the 
two men came to be so remarkable, so dramatic, that 
we may now regard them as protagonists and symbols of 
the hostile movements which strove for the mastery of 
their age. Franklin, chief of the victors, we know far 
better than the defeated Edwards, who all his life upheld 
a cause which even in his youth was lost, had he but 
known it, and who seems on most of his pages to speak 
of forgotten issues in a forgotten dialect; while Franklin 
seems contemporaneous, fresh, full of vitality. Yet we 
know even Franklin too exclusively through his Auto- 
hiography, which is a great book but not half varied 
enough to display its author entire — a great book but 
one written for his children, and an eager world, with a 
somewhat patriarchal pen; or else we know him through 
the scientific, or philanthropic, or civic essays and 
pamphlets in which he urged the countless good measures 
now associated with his fame. In either case, the racy, 
robust, colonial humorist is overlooked, the correspondent 
of so much variety, the finished wit who in his old age 
matched himself gracefully and equally with the most 
elegant wits of France. Edwards survives, so far as he 
may be said to survive at all, outside technical histories 
of Calvinism and metaphysics, chiefly as a dim figure 
preaching sermons full of awful imprecations, and hardly 
at all as a remarkable scientific observer, and one of the 
impressive mystics of the world. Judged both of them 
by those of their writings which seem most intelligible 
and living today, — Franklin's merely utilitarian and Ed- 
wards' merely theological performances left out of ac- 

ix 



INTRODUCTION 

count, — they aie for themselves greatly important. But 
they grow more important when we perceive that Edwards 

, was the resounding voice of a whole party which wanted 
to restore New England to the apostolic virtues of its first 
century, as he might have said; or to drive New England 
back to the dusky, witch-haunted forests wherein the first 
settlers had lived, body and soul, as Franklin might have 

^ preferred to put it, himself easily the first of those who 
led his whole country, and not merely New England, 
toward the blessed sun of cheerfulness and reason. 

Significance may justly be attached to the difference 
between the social classes from which the two sprang, and 
perhaps to the difference between their native colonies. 

. Edwards, the senior by three years, was born in 1703 at 
East Windsor, Connecticut, a compact and orthodox par- 
ish of the most oak-hearted of all the Puritan states. 

f Franklin, on the other hand, passed his first seventeen 
yeargSn Boston, exposed to the liberal winds which gen- 
erally blow, much or little, even in provincial Puritan 
metropolises. Moreover, Franklin came from plain 

" tradesman or artisan stock, which boasted — or rather, did 
not boast — a versifying scion or two, but which had had 
no clergymen or magistrates. Edwards had in him the 
blood of both those professions, and was bred in the strict- 
est paths of orthodoxy and responsibility. While Frank- 
lin was being taken about by his thrifty father to see 
the various trades that he might discover a partiality for 
some one of them, Edwards was already in Yale, being 
confirmed in the clerical disposition which was his birth- 
right and fate. 

The Autobiography has a classic passage upon Frank- 
lin's youthful reading and writing, and upon the careful 
pains the boy took to form his prose style. He passed 
somewhat casually by his father's books of divinity, and 
rapidly devoured such virtuous romance and history as 
came his way, but at sixteen or so he read Locke's Essay 
Concerning Human Understanding, Xenophon's Memo- 
rdbilia, Shaftesbury, and Collins. Becoming a free 
thinker, he studied, as an aid to argument, the Socratie 
method of humble, though premeditated, inquiry — 
"never using, when I advanced anything that may pos- 
sibly be disputed, the words certainly, undonhtedly, or 
any others that give the air of positiveness to an opinion; 



INTEODUCTION xi 

but rather say, I conceive or apprehend a thing to be 
so and so; it appears to me, or I should thinJc it so or so, 
for such and such reasons; or I imagine it to he so; or 
it is so, if I am not mistahenf Compare with this the 
rules which Edwards drew up at nearly the same age 
to govern him in his writing about scientific matters: 
"1. Try not only to silence, but to gain. 2. To give 
but few prefatorial admonitions about the style and 
method. It doth an author much hurt to show his con- 
cern in those things. ... 4. Let much modesty be seen 
in the style. ... 8. In the course of reasoning, not to 
pretend anything to be more certain, than every one 
will plainly see it is, by such expressions as, — It is cer- 
tain, — It is undeniable, etc. 9. To be very moderate in 
the terms of art. Let it not look as if I was much read, 
or was conversant with books, or with the learned 
world. ... 11. Never to dispute for things, after that 
I cannot handsomely retreat, upon conviction of the con- 
trary. ... 5. Oftentimes it suits the subject and reason- 
ing best, to explain by way of objection and answer, 
after the manner of Dialogue." 

Each in his own way, it thus appears, they hit upon 
much the same arts of rhetoric. Of Edwards' early read- 
ing we .know less than of Eranklin's, but it is at least 
certain that Yale College had at the moment among its 
students a mind as open and lucid as that less profound 
one then industriously disciplining itself and laying 
canny plans in James Franklin's printing shop at Boston. 
Edwards too had read Locke (at fourteen) as well as 
his father's polemical books; he had written whimsically 
upon the materiality of the soul when he was ten or so; 
and by twelve he had produced his observant letter upon 
the flying spider in such prose as boys rarely command. 
He very early acquired his life-long habit of writing, — 
of reading and thinking pen in hand, — and his boyhood 
has left us a more abundant record than Franklin's. For 
the most part, the record is of philosophical or scientific 
affairs. No careful reader of his "Notes on the Mind" 
and "Notes on Natural Science" can avoid the conclu- 
sion that Edwards belongs with the phenomenal youths of 
the race. It is true that these Notes are undated, but he 
certainly began both series at fifteen or sixteen — an age 
at which Franklin was amusing Boston with the Dogood 



xii INTEODUCTION 

papers — and formulated most of his ideas before the 
troubled period 1722-1725, so candidly recorded in his 
Diary, which drew Edwards away from the humaner 
concerns of his adolescence to his mighty, and appalling, 
labors in defence of High Calvinism. Before he was 
twenty he had moved beyond Locke to. the idealistic posi- 
tion of Bishop Berkeley, whom Edwards had almost cer- 
tainly never read; he had studied Newton, had reached 
an independent position with regard to the method of 
science, and had made important first-hand observations 
in nature. What he might have accomplished had he 
gone on with his youthful plans for great treatises on 
Mental and Natural Philosophy and Natural History we 
need not try to guess, large as his promise was, but we 
should remember the freedom and variety of his specu- 
lations at this stage. Eranklin, at odds with accepted 
doctrines in Boston, would have subscribed to the pre- 
amble to ^'Notes on Natural Science" : ^^Of all prejudices," 
it begins, "no one so fights with Natural Philosophy, and 
prevails more against it, than those of the Imagination. 
It is these, which make the vulgar so roar out, upon 
the mention of some very rational philosophical truths. 
And indeed I have known of some very learned men, that 
have pretended to a more than ordinary freedom from 
such prejudices, so overcome by them, that, merely be- 
cause of them, they have believed things most absurd. 
And truly, I hardly know of any other prejudices, that 
are more powerful against truth of any kind, than those; 
and I believe they will not give the hand to any in any 
case, except to those arising from our ruling self-interest, 
or the impetuosity of human passions. And there is 
very good reason for it: for opinions, arising from 
imagination, take us as soon as we are born, are beat 
into us by every act of sensation, and so grow up with 
us from our very births, and by that means grow into us 
so fast, that it is almost impossible to root them out; 
being, as it were, so incorporated with our very minds 
that whatsoever is objected contrary thereunto, is, as if 
it were dissonant to the very constitution of them." 
Franklin, indeed, hardly stood on the side of the argu- 
ment which contended for the reality of things not seen, 
but he was with Edwards in his confidence in the reason, 
in his desire to bring knowledge to the place of super- 



INTEODUCTION xiii 

stition, and in his contempt for the vulgar who so "roar 
out" at a new idea. 

The resemblance between them as regards keenness of 
observation and range of curiosity was still more marked. 
We have only to compare, for instance, the journal which 
Franklin kept on his first return from England at the 
age of twenty with Edwards' long list of ^'Things to Be 
Considered, or Written Fully About." Franklin, of 
course, was gayer, more attentive to human traits and 
singularities, but nothing visible eluded his tireless eye 
or his easy pen, whether it was prices at Gravesend, or 
the harbor of Portsmouth, or the philosophy of drafts 
(checkers), or Newport oysters, or Carisbrooke Castle, 
or the treatment of a card sharper caught at his tricks, 
or the looks and habits of dolphins, or the pilot-fish which 
hang about sharks, or the little creatures found on float- 
ing pieces of gulf -weed, or the crab's mode of locomotion, 
or the eclipse of the moon, or the arts of the flying fish, 
or the reputed anatomy of the heron. Edwards, to judge ^ 
by his manuscripts, though sharp-eyed for phenomena, 
looked past them more quickly than Franklin to causes 
and general laws. He speculated upon the nature and 
behavior of atoms; argued that the fixed stars are suns; 
commented on the difficulty in explaining why trees 
should grow from the seed into this or that form; 
shrewdly recorded his observations of the speed of sounds ; 
sought to account for color, elasticity, evaporation, the 
single image which two eyes receive of one object, the 
disparity of the sun's heat in winter and summer; he 
pointed out that water is compressible, and loses its spe- 
cific gravity upon freezing; he suggested that space con- 
tains some "etherial matter" considerably rarer than 
"atmospheric air"; and, anticipating Franklin's studies 
in lightning, declared that it could not be a solid, pro- 
jected body but an "almost infinitely fine, combustible 
matter, that floats in the air, that takes fire by a sudden 
and mighty fermentation, that is some way promoted by 
the cool and moisture, and perhaps attraction, of the 
clouds." 

Without much doubt Edwards would have been the 
equal of Franklin as a scientist had he continued in such 
studies, and the two might have divided between them 
that "New World of Philosophy" of which both had 



xiv INTEODTJCTION 

visions, Edwards excelling in pure, Franklin in applied, 
science. Actually, however, both departed from their 
early common ground. Franklin went the way of inven- 
tion following the popular bent of American science. 
Edwards, held back from the popular drift by his recluse 
disposition and by his speculative, mystical turn, went the 
way of theology, giving up not only natural science but 
also secular philosophy, in which he was more penetrat- 
ing, or at ^ least more imaginative, than Franklin. Of 
immaterialism Franklin seems never to have said more 
than that Philadelphia did not understand, in 1752, "those 
parts that savor of what is called BerJceleyanism'' in 
Samuel Johnson's Elementa Philosophica which he had 
just published. He could not have known of Edwards' 
marvelous "Notes on the Mind," for they remained in 
manuscript for a century, and he would in all likelihood 
have passed them somewhat blithely by as tasting of en- 
thusiasm and conducting to no useful end either in sense 
or reason. 

It is at the point where Edwards verges upon utili- 
tarianism that they most distinctly part company. From 
both we have full and fascinating records of their early 
religious experiences. In the case of Franklin, skepti- 
cism was bred by the disputatious theologians whom he 
read in his father's library, and he was converted to 
Deism by the arguments of the very men who meant to 
combat it. He proceeded to the Deists themselves, par- 
ticularly Shaftesbury and Collins, and later to Wolla^ton, 
whose Religion of Nature he set type for in London. 
^But having been badly treated by the freethinkers whom 
he knew and having himself committed some unworthy 
acts during his period of freethinking, he coolly came to 
the conclusion that these doctrines were little better than 
the older ones against which he had rebelled, and so gave 
up theology for practical morality. "Kevelation," he 
says, "had indeed no weight with me, as such; but I 
entertain'd an opinion that, though certain actions might 
not be bad hecause they were forbidden by it, or good 
hecause it commanded them, yet probably these actions 
might be forbidden hecause they were bad for us, or ' 
commanded hecause they were beneficial to us, in their 
own natures, all the circumstances of things considered.'^ 
When he was twenty-two he composed a set of Articles 



INTEODUCTION 



X7 



of Belief and Acts of Religion whicli unites with a sane 
deism a considerable element of elevated emotion; and 
he later conceived the bold project of arriving at moral 
perfection. He found, he says simply, that it was 
harder than he had expected, but he persevered until the 
enterprise ceased to interest him, not without some com- 
placency over the result. Thereafter he lived without 
any torments of self-scrutiny; bland, comfortable, kindly, 
philanthropic. Just before his death he answered certain 
queries from Ezra Stiles in a letter which throws light 
over his whole career and character, particularly in one 
unforgettable sentence. ^^As to Jesus of Nazareth, my 
Opinion of whom you particularly desire, I think the 
bystem of Morals and his Eeligion, as he left them to us, 
the best the world ever saw or is likely to see; but I 
apprehend it has received various corrupting Changes, 
and I have, with most of the present Dissenters in Eng- 
land, some Doubts as to his Divinity; tho' it is a ques- 
^^'^? \' ^^* dogmatize upon, having never studied it, 
and think it needless to busy myself with it now, when I 
expect soon an Opportunity of knowing the Truth with 
less Trouble." 

^ To Edwards such ease and peace would have been as 
incomprehensible as his own passionate introspections 
would have been to Franklin. The sense of an immanent 
Crod, constantly pressing close upon His creatures, lay at 
the very root of Edwards' nature. In his ''Things to 
be Considered," side by side with his mathematical 
demonstrations, occur such passages as these: "To show 
how the Motion, Eest, and Direction of the Least Atom 
has an influence on the motion, rest and direction of every 
body m the Universe; and to show how, by that means, 
every thing which happens, with respect to motes, or 
straws and such little things, may be for some great uses 
in the whole course of things, throughout Eternity; and 
to show how the least wrong step in a note, may, in 
-bternity, subvert the order of the Universe ; and to take 
note o± the great wisdom that is necessary, in order thus 
to dispose every atom at first, as that they should go for 
the best, throughout all Eternity, and in the Adjusting, 
by an exact computation, and a nice allowance to be 
made tor the miracles, which should be needful, and 
other ways, whereby the course of bodies should be 



xvi INTKODUCTIOIsr 

diverted. — ^And then to show how God, who does this, 
must be necessarily Omniscient, and know every the least 
' thing, that must happen through Eternity/^ "To observe, 
in a proper place, that, since Creation is the first causing 
of such resistance [that is, the resistance of matter, or 
solidity], and Upholding is the causing of it successively; 
therefore the same person, who created, upholds and gov- 
erns; whence we may learn who it is that sustains this 
noble fabrick of glorious bodies — and to expatiate much 
upon it." Edwards' progression from science and philos- 
ophy to theology was in no sense a desertion: the three 
subjects possessed him side by side, theology perhaps first 
in time as first in eminence among his intellectual pas- 
sions. He had always a vision of some central Cause or 
Order from which all phenomena, all substance, pro- 
ceeded, in which, indeed, phenomena and substance had 
their only existence. As scientist and philosopher he 
moved among the foothills of the Mount of Vision, always 
conscious that the Mount was there; but when, at about 
eighteen or nineteen, he underwent his great conviction 
of its presence, he saw such glories at its summit that 
he never quite^ recovered from that light. His progress 
may be traced in the surviving pages of his Diary begun 
18 December, 1722. On that day was made the thirty- 
fifth of the seventy Eesolutions which so singularly com- 
plement the thirteen Precepts of Franklin— the never 
suppressed mysticism of the age asserting itself against 
its predominant commonsense. Edwards differs from 
Eranklin not so much in his more lively or more guilty 
sense of sin as in his feeling that the true end of man 
is to be achieved by rapture. Day after day, his Diary 
shows, he reproached himself because he could not always 
keep ecstatic but repeatedly descended to temporal con- 
cerns and became "dull, dry and dead." He did indeed, 
like Franklin, make vows of temperance and industry, 
but his temperance means asceticism, and his industry, 
passionate toil. ''Resolved/' he says in his sixth Eeso- 
lution,^ "To live with all my might, while I do live." 
We think of Thoreau, wanting "to live deep and suck out 
all the marrow of life"— or of Pater, wanting "to bum 
always with this hard gemlike flame." And yet Edwards, 
proud and vivid a youth as Thoreau or Pater, at twenty 
submitted himself utterly to the old God of New Eng- 



INTKODUCTION 7Mi 

land. On Saturday, 12 January, 1723, he made his solemn 
dedication. ^^I have been before God,'^ he wrote that . 
morning, "and have given myself, all that I am, and have, 
to God; so that I am not, in any respect, my own. I can 
challenge no right to this understanding, this will, these 
affections, which are in me. Neither have I any right 
to this body, or any of its members — no right to this 
tongue, these hands, these feet; no right to these senses, 
these eyes, these ears, this smell, or this taste.'' Of course 
he had "dull, dry and dead" hours thereafter, but he 
never again turned back. He had taken the great step of 
his life; he had given up once for all the secular aspira- 
tions which might have hindered him in his career as the i^ 
last High Priest of American Calvinism. He threw in 
his fortunes with those of Connecticut's ancient creed, 
and that in the very year in which Franklin, vexed and 
at outs with Boston, left New England finally behind 
him for an ampler scene and regions more tolerant. 

The divergence between them after 1723 will appear 
from a comparison of their two courtships, which may be 
said to have begun in that year. At least, it was then, 
as all the world knows, that Deborah Read stood in her 
father's door in Market Street and watched her future 
husband march by with his three great penny rolls. And 
it was then that Jonathan Edwards set down on a blank 
leaf what he had heard of a certain New Haven girl, 
Sarah Pierrepont, in words more eloquent than any he 
is known to have used before. Perhaps the comparison is 
not wholly fair, for Edwards wrote in his fervent youth, 
and Franklin only many cool years later when he was 
great enough to have autobiography demanded of him. 
But at least no one will seriously doubt that Benjamin 
chose Deborah with circumspection and very deliberately 
wooed and wed her; or that Jonathan was impelled to 
Sarah (how nicely Biblical the four names!) by an ex- 
quisite and impetuous passion, testified to not only by 
his mystical account of her but by the letter in which 
he urged her to a speedy marriage. "Patience is com- 
monly esteemed a virtue," he says, "but in this case I 
may almost regard it as a vice." The two wives proved 
both of them faithful and competent and affectionate. 
So much is sure, though they do indeed now shine for 
us with borrowed light — Mrs. Franklin homely and pru- 



xviii INTEODUCTION 

dent like her husband, though without his wit; and Mrs. 
Edwards mystical and rapturous like her husband, though 
without the inhumanity which went with his ardor for 
abstract doctrines. We may question which of them 
seems really more pathetic: Franklin's "good old wife" 
waiting patiently, at times lonesomely, in Philadelphia 
through the many years in which her great husband 
moved gloriously about in Europe; or Edwards' exquisite 
companion trying to lift herself, apparently under his 
injunctions, to the plane of rapture on which she could 
endure it, for the glory of God, even "if the feeling and 
conduct of my husband were to be changed from tender- 
ness and affection, to extreme hatred and cruelty, and 
that every day," or if "God should employ some other 
instrument than Mr. Edwards in advancing the work of 
grace in Northampton." 

Having left the more or less common path of their 
: boyhood, Edwards and Franklin as writers walked very 
1 different paths. Although the New England sermon of 
1730 had lost some of its terrors, particularly its heroic 
dimensions and immense anathemas, and had fallen to 
meaner levels, it was a proved instrument for the hand 
that could wield it. Edwards had therefore little to in- 
vent; he entered his career working in an established 
tradition. What he contributed was a new flame of 
,. belief. His conversion had come through mystic vision, 
through revelation. He spoke with the certainty and 
authority of one who had met God face to face. It was 
the echoes of his preaching at Northampton, where he 
entered upon a full pastorate as successor to his grand- 
father Solomon Stoddard in 1729, that won him in 1731 
an invitation to deliver a "public lecture" in Boston, 
and he there caught the ear of New England with his 
first great sermon, God Glorified in Mans Dependence. 
Edwards' doctrine was not new, but his eloquence was, 
his confidence was. Against the democratic notions which 
had latterly so crept into Zion that even Jehovah's sov- 
ereign power and right had yielded something to human 
dignity, Edwards spoke out. God was infinitely master, 
and man infinitely slave. The root of Edwards' argu- 
ment lay without doubt in those hours of illumination 
which had taught him the enormous majesty of God. 
True, he had learned it then through beauty, singing to 



INTKODUCTION xix 

himself verses from the Canticles and rejoicing in the 
electric shock of thunder. But, like all mystics, he had . 
to speak the dialect of the world when he came from his 
trance; and the dialect of Edwards' world was Calvinism. 
We need not too curiously inquire how he had translated 
his vision into the "delightful conviction," "the exceeding 
pleasant, bright, and sweet" doctrine of predestination, 
for Edwards himself was never quite explicit about all 
the steps of his translation. What we do find important 
is what New England at the time found important: that 
out of the forests of Hampshire County had come a 
beautiful young saint to lift up a decaying doctrine, to 
renew a waning cause. And nothing was more natural % 
than that, two years later, Edwards in The Reality of 
Spiritual Light, preached at Northampton, should vindi- 
cate his authority by asserting the existence of a "Spir- 
itual and Divine Light, immediately imparted to the soul 
by God, of a different nature from any that is obtained 
by natural means." He challenged the march of reason / 
as he had already challenged the march of democracy, 
seeing in them, now that he had become so totally a 
theologian, only insurrection and error. 

Franklin was with the insurrectionists, keeping a shop 
in Philadelphia, and following, as printer, the trade which 
of all trades perhaps most promotes democracy, if not 
reason. He had studied Addison, and, too direct of 
vision to become a mere literary imitator, had brought 
something of Addison's deft, urbane raillery to the pro- 
vincial subjects which engaged his pen. In Boston 
Franklin had made fun of Harvard and ridiculed the New 
England funeral elegies of his youth; in London he had 
gone speculating with the Deists; in Philadelphia he 
united raillery with speculation, and added the never- 
stumbling commonsense which was to be his most mem- 
orable quality. Of course Pennsylvania in that day 
could no more support a mere man of letters than could 
Massachusetts, and indeed Franklin was so far from 
being such a person that he never regarded his writing 
as anything but a useful tool for his projects and his 
philanthropies. But his pen was repeatedly in his hand. 
He followed the Dogood papers of 1722 with the Busy- 
body papers which appeared in 1728-29 for no graver 
purpose than to point out the follies and blunders and 



XX INTEODTJCTION 

unreasonableness of his fellow citizens : of the woman 
who pestered a shopkeeper by prolonged visits; of the 
many "honest Artificers" who wasted innumerable hours 
in the search for treasure, "buried by Pyrates, and others 
in old Times." To his Pennsylvania Gazette he con- 
tributed, beginning with 1Y30, various pieces without 
■ reading which we can now form a correct estimate neither 

/ of Franklin's observation and judgment and comic force 
and point nor of the community in which he soon became 
the most eminent citizen. No doubt he was something of 
an enfant terrihle: witness his impudent Apology for 
Printers, which ruffled the Philadelphia clergy, and the 
robust Speech of Polly Baher in defence of her illegal 
fecundity. Doubtless, too, his Dialogues hetween Phi- 
lodes and Horatio on the subject of pain and pleasure 
seemed pretty care-free to the orthodox. But in the main 
Franklin pleased his entire public. He could be gross 
or refined, homely or elegant, prudent or altruistic; he 
was a lover and a defender of both wit and virtue. He 
lacked, indeed, the mystical radiance of Edwards, but in 
what community may a man not thrive without that! 
Over against the subtlest sentence Edwards ever wrote 
may be set the sentence of Franklin, itself sublime in its 
way, in which he commented upon a proposed tax: "In 
matters of general concern to the people, and especially 
where burthens are to be laid upon them, it is of use to 
consider, as well what they will be apt to think and say, 
as what they ought to think." Edwards exceeded Frank- 
lin no further in experience of God and the deeper soul 
of man than he was exceeded by him in experience of 

/, daily realities and human behavior; Franklin could not 

\ have written the Personal Narrative nor Edwards The 

\ Way to Wealth. 

Nothing better exhibits the Franklin of colonial days 

• than the successive issues of Poor Richard. Of course 
Franklin did not originate the idea: a real Richard 
Saunders had long edited in England The Apollo Angeli- 
canus and the name of the chief English comic almanac 
was Poor Rohin. But Robin and Richard left all their 
foreign baggage behind them when they crossed the 
Atlantic to be combined and reincarnated in Poor 
Richard. It was his intense reality which commended 
him to those who saw in him a fellow-citizen. He uttered 



INTEODTJCTION xxi 

what they at once knew for their own thoughts, in what 
they suddenly discovered would have been their own 
language if they could have said such things at all. He 
was a plain man who kept a shop and had humorous tiffs 
with Bridget his wife; who knew enough about the stars 
and the zodiac, but still more about a thousand matters 
intimate to humble Pennsylvanians. Wise as he was, he 
was even wittier, with the rare and irresistible gift pf 
making proverbs. Little though most of his readers 
must have understood it, when they preferred Poor 
Richard to his rival Titan Leeds they were rewarding 
superior skill in literature. "Necessity," said Leeds, "is 
a mighty weapon." "E'ecessity," said Poor Richard, 
glancing at the obverse, "never made a good bargain." 
"Be careful of the main chance," said Leeds, "or it will 
never take care of you." "Keep thy shop," said Poor 
Richard more specifically, "and thy shop will keep thee." 
^^'Tis best," said Leeds, "to make a good use of another's 
folly." "Fools," said blunter Poor Richard, "make feasts, 
and wise men eat them." "Bad hours and ill company 
have ruined many fine young people," said the moral 
Leeds. Poor Richard said "The rotten apple spoils his 
companions." For twenty-five years Franklin wrote for 
his almanac, and in 1758 concluded with the valedictory 
and summary. The Way to Wealth, which is the true 
American Book of Proverbs, the authentic Elder Scrip- 
ture of our worldly wisdom. 

In that same year Edwards had in the press his final 
treatise. The Great Christian Doctrine of Original Sin 
Defended — defended, because it was under fire from many 
sides. He had been on the defensive for years, most 
particularly in the late thirties and the forties, when the 
Great Awakening was stirring New England and not a 
few remoter parts of the world. Some echoes of the 
Awakening pleasantly appear in Franklin's Autobi- 
ography. When Whitefield came over, says Franklin, 
Philadelphia grew so religious "that one could not walk 
thro' the town in an evening without hearing psalms 
sung in different families of every street." A great meet- 
ing house was erected, for the service of any preacher 
who might come by, even "a missionary to preach Moham- 
medanism to us." Franklin found Whitefield very effec- 
tive. "I happened," he says, "soon after to attend one 



xxii INTEODUCTION 

of his sermons, in the course of which I perceived he 
intended to finish with a collection, and I silently re- 
solved he should get nothing from me. I had in my 
pocket a handful of copper money, three or four silver 
dollars, and five pistoles in gold. As he proceeded I began 
to soften, and concluded to give the coppers. Another 
stroke of his oratory made me asham'd of that, and de- 
termin'd me to give the silver; and he finished so ad- 
mirably, that I empty'd my pocket wholly into the col- 
lector's dish, gold and all." Franklin believed that 
Whitefield was an honest man. ^'He us'd, indeed, some- 
times to pray for my conversion, but never had the satis- 
faction of believing that his prayers were heard. Ours 
was a mere civil friendship." Whitefield's writings 
seemed to Franklin unimportant; his preaching excellent. 
It was indeed a ^^mere civil friendship" which allowed 
Franklin, at the most impassioned meetings, to pass his 
time calculating the distance Whitefield's voice would 
carry. "I computed that he might well be heard by more 
than thirty thousand. This reconciled me to the news- 
paper accounts of his having preach'd to twenty-five thou- 
sand people in the fields, and to the antient histories of 
generals haranguing whole armies, of which I had some- 
times doubted." 

From this dry, cool atmosphere Edwards was worlds 
away. Perhaps earlier than we realize, his visions of a 
ISTew Philosophy had given way to others of a New 
Holiness. Having himself outgrown secular for religious 
aspirations, and having given up all private right to his 
senses and faculties, he questioned, in his narrow parish, 
whether New England might not follow his course to a 
millennium of consecration. Others, indeed all, must see 
how dependent upon God mankind was ; others, indeed all, 
might believe in the reality of spiritual light and direct 
revelation. Not only duty but the soul's interest de- 
manded that all the children of God should turn away 
from their little affairs to follow God to His Kingdom, 
perhaps soon to be planted upon earth, with New Eng- 
land as the seed and garden. Edwards has himself traced 
the rise of his influence in Northampton — the quickening 
signs of grace, he thought — in his Faithful Narrative of 
the Surprising Work of God, with the earnestness of a 
prophet, the observation of a psychologist, and the skill 



INTEODUCTION xxiii 

of a novelist. We need not look very deep into the mys- 
teries of grace to understand the process. For over fifty 
years the Northampton congregation had been ruled by 
the iron will and creed of Solomon Stoddard. Though 
reaction had followed after his death, during Edwards' 
tentative years, the people were too accustomed to such a 
sway, and too little reached by the world beyond their 
farms and forests, not to respond to the imperious elo- 
quence with which Edwards taught. Late in 1733 came 
the first signs, "a very unusual flexibleness, and yielding 
to advice'' among the young members. The long brood- 
ing winter intensified it, and the spring warmed it. The 
deaths of two of them lent confirmation to Edwards' argu- 
ments. He himself believed that the stir over Arminian- 
ism did much, though perhaps doctrine actually accom- 
plished less than fear. By 1735 "a great and earnest 
concern about the great things of religion, and the eter- 
nal world, became universal in all parts of the town, 
and among persons of all degrees, and all ages; the noise 
amongst the dry bones waxed louder and louder." In 
a little while the people were swept by a passion not 
unlike that earlier recorded in Edwards' Diary, and the 
first great American revival had begun. The phenome- 
non, so often recurrent, has since been systematized and 
vulgarized by those who believe in it, and cynically an- 
alyzed by those who do not; but in its first flush for a 
time seemed above system or vulgarity or analysis. At 
least Edwards saw in it vastly more than his own success : 
the true Light, so long shut out, shone purely, fiercely, 
upon his flock. Rapture had come among them, and 
might save the world. He was as busy about this great 
business as Franklin about his printing and his shop 
in Philadelphia, preaching and exhorting with all his 
strength, and explaining the work to distant clergymen by 
letter. In this form he cast his Faithful Narrative, 
written to the Rev. Benjamin Coleman of Boston, late in 
1736, when the excitement was dying down but Edwards 
had lost nothing of his hopefulness. Others, he admitted, 
had not his assurance that the method was authentic. 
He pointed to the effects. "And w^hatever the circum- 
stances and means have been, and though we are so un- 
worthy, yet it hath pleased God to work! And we are 
evidently a people blessed of the Lord ! And here in this 



^i"»' INTEODUCTIOlSr 

glovj" "^ *^^ ^''''^^' ^°** *^'^^"'' ^""^ manifests his 
As Edwards expected, the revival at Northampton was 
but prologue to a more general one, since known as The 
^ (rreat Awakening. It will be suiScient brieflv to indi- 
cate his literary contributions (excluding sermons) to the 
movement of which, however, he was actually the pro- 
loundest thinker and the richest voice. In The Distin- 
guishing Marhs of a Work of the Spirit of God (1741) 
reprinted by Franklin at Philadelphia, Edwards took 
issue with all who viewed the Awakening coldly, content 
to point out its passions and extravagances, and, under 
the prevailing rules of commonsense, to condemn it there- 
tore as fanaticism. He spoke for the authenticity of 
vision. Even the "bodily effects," the swoonings and 
cries which had so scandalized the peace of churches, he 
defended as credible, though not essential, symptoms of 
tne bpirit; but more important to him were the states 
•ot rapture which had been induced, and the increase 
ot serious concerns m so many congregations. These 
were facts, and he would not hear them gainsaid. A year 
later he published Some Thoughts Concerning the Pres- 
ent Eevival of Religion in New England, when the 
Awakening had begun to frighten even its adherents by 
Its abuses. Prosaic or undisciplined people were coming 
to judge conversions by the volume of the "bodily effects" 
which accompanied them. There were not enough mys- 
tical poets in New England to keep up a proper empha- 
sis on the necessity of inwardness. Extravagance had 
bred frenzy, and frenzy was followed by dissension, re- 
crimination, and reaction. Again Edwards defended the 
work ^ of the spirit, justifying the appeal to the "affec- 
tions, that is, the emotions, which are a part of the 
soul._ Warmth of devotion as much as clearness of rea- 
son IS called for m true religion, he urged. But for all 
he pleaded for a proper use of the bodily effects, and set 
himself firmly against mere impulses and impressions, he 
offered no rule to discipline them by, not even a rule 
lounded on morality or decent human behavior. His 
critics wondered, unanswered, how infinitely dependent 
men could govern in themselves the inclinations, both 
true and false, which the Spirit seemed to rouse. It may 
well have been some sense of this difficulty which made 



INTEODUCTION xxv 

Edwards' third apology for the Awakening, A Treatise 
Concerning Religious Affections (1746), less applicable 
than the others to the immediate occasion, less concerned 
with the signs and marks recently discussed. Passing by 
all the lower evidence, he carried religious affections up 
to origin in the divine influence, revelation through di- 
vine illumination, foundation on love to divine excellency ; 
he associated with them conviction of certainty, humilia- 
tion, change of nature, softening of the heart, beautiful 
symmetry and proportion, and the outward fruit of 
Christian practice. Dreadful as some of the Calvinistic 
and predestinarian implications of his argument now 
seem, the book cannot be read without a thrill at its 
subtlety and its sustained power, and at its ringing echoes 
of a deep religious experience. 

Through all his books upon the great event of his life 
we may trace the memory of his youthful illumination. 
The people of E^orthampton, according to his Faithful 
Narrative, had the same experience. "All things abroad, 
the sun, moon and stars, the clouds and sky, the heavens 
and earth, appear as it were with a cast of divine glory 
and sweetness upon them. . . . The joy that many of 
them speak of is, that to which none is to be paralleled; 
is that which they find when they are lowest in the dust, 
emptied most of themselves, and as it were annihilating 
themselves before God, when they are nothing, and God is 
all.'' In Thoughts on the Revival he tells of a certain 
person (actually his wife) who had experienced "resigna- 
tion and acceptance of God, as the only portion and 
happiness of the soul, wherein the whole world, with its 
dearest enjoyments in it, were renounced as dirt and 
dung, and all that is pleasant and glorious, and all that 
is terrible in this world, seemed perfectly to vanish into 
nothing, and nothing to be left but God, in whom the 
soul was perfectly swallowed up, as in an infinite ocean of 
blessedness." Without doubt Edwards drew much of his 
confidence in the Awakening from the mystical ecstasies 
which then possessed his wife, which he studied with close 
attention, and of which he persuaded her to write out an 
account in 1742. The resemblances between her sensa- 
tions and his are too close to need emphasis now, though 
he seems not to have perceived how far it was from him 
that his sensitive and loving wife had learned the way of 



xxvi INTEODUCTION 

the mystic and the convertite. Presumably it was at 
about this time that he wrote his own account, known as 
the Personal Narrative from the title given it by his 
biographer.^ That Narrative is therefore a backward 
glance. At the hour of his great harvest he recalled its 
sowing. Some refraction in his vision there must have 
been: he overstresses his youthful offences; he passes 
too quickly over certain steps in his conviction; he sees 
an ^^extraordinary influence of God's Spirit" which he 
had not seen at the time; he cannot help making his past 
point to ISTew England's present. And yet in this less 
than a score of pages he summed up, accurately and 
^ eloquently, his entire spiritual life, and produced the 
exquisite flower, the true lyric and elegy, of American 
Calvinism. - 

We may rightly call it elegy, for the Great Awakening 
was the last dramatic struggle of the Old Faith. Tran- 
scendentalism was still a hundred years off, and High 
Calvinism of course bequeathed doctrines and rules of 
conduct that survive under various disguises even in the 
twentieth century. But the theocratic dynasty had suf- 
fered a fatal defeat. Edwards' later career may be taken 
as something representative of the changes which swiftly 
^ followed. His congregation, exhausted by its raptures, 
quarreled with him, and after an ugly controversy dis- 
^ missed him in 1Y50. Edwards, perfectly confident that 
the Judgment would justify him, accepted his dismissal, 
and the downfall of his hopes for ISTew England, with lofty 
resignation. At Stockbridge, where he spent all but a 
few months of his remaining life as missionary to the 
Indians, he wrote the mighty treatise, A Careful and 
Strict Enquiry into the Modern prevailing Notions of 
that Freedom of the Will which is supposed to he Essen- 
tial to Moral Agency (1Y54), in which, with logic no one 
could meet, he argued that God so rules his world that 
the human will is not free to choose between good and 
^^evil; The Great Christian Doctrine of Original 8in De- 
fended (1758), uncompromising corollary of the denial of 
human freedom; the posthumous Two Dissertations: I. 
Concerning the End for which God created the World. 

^ S. E. Dwiffht, who says the Narrative was written "near twenty 
years after" Edwards left college in 1720. The last paragraph of 
the Nari^ative mentions the date, January 1739. 




INTEODUCTION xxvii 

II. The Nature of True Virtue (1Y65), to prove that the 
highest virtue lies purely in the love of God, who created 
the world for His own glory, out of his grace sharing 
some of his felicity with some of his creatures.^ Beyond 
this Edwards could not go in his exaltation of the God 
who had overpowered him with splendor and majesty in 
his youth. Had he lived longer, he would have given his 
principal strength, as he told the Trustees of Nassau 
Hall (Princeton) when they invited him to become presi- 
dent of that college, to a History of the work of Redemp- 
tion, a vast narrative of the work of God in heaven, earth, 
and hell, from the Creation to the Judgment. Perhaps, 
however, it was not his death in 1758 which alone denied 
us a newer Paradise Regained; perhaps it was the de- 
cision which Edwards had long before made, not wholly 
of his own choice, conditions in eighteenth century New 
England being what they were, — the decision that he was 
to be not a poet but a theologian, that he was to take 
from mankind the little glory it had to bestow it upon 
a God who after all did not need it. 

While Edwards, thus defeated by the course of events, 
stood with his back to the world, Franklin, smiling ami- 
ably upon it, walked steadily along in the comfortable 
light and warmth of its smiles. At forty-seven, the age 
at which Edwards was dismissed from Northampton, 
Franklin became deputy postmaster-general of America. 
He was already Pennsylvania's first citizen; while ac- 
cumulating a fortune that enabled him to retire from 
active business at forty-two he had found time to carry 
out a large program of municipal improvements in Phila- 
delphia, had invented the "Pennsylvanian fireplace" now 
known as the Franklin stove, had planned the academy 
which became the University of Pennsylvania, had 
founded the American Philosophical Society, had shown 
the identity of lightning and electricity, and had devised 
the lightning-rod ; he had been justice of the peace, mem- 
ber of the Common Council, alderman, and representa- 
tive from Philadelphia to the Pennsylvania Assembly.^^ 
As deputy postmaster-general he now became a Conti- 
nental figure. In 1759, as commissioner from Pennsyl- 

' The Nature of True Virtue only elaborates the amazingly preco- 
cious discussion of Excellency which Edwards wrote first among 
his Notes on the Mind. 



xxviii INTEODUCTION 

vania to the Albany Congress, lie presented the "Plan 
of Union" which was there adopted. In 1755 it was 
Franklin who lent the most valuable assistance to Brad- 
dock's expedition. The next year he commanded the 
militia organized to protect the Pennsylvania frontier 
against the Indians. And the year following he went to 
England as agent for the Pennsylvania Assembly in their 
quarrel with the proprietors. 

Had he died in 1758, as Edwards did, Franklin would 
have left the smaller achievement and . reputation of the 
two, for Edwards was already an international figure in 
the world of speculation, while Franklin as humorist, 
scientist, and diplomatist had yet to commend hfmself 
to a wider world of affairs than he had been able to 
address during his provincial days. Unquestionably his 
scientific and diplomatic skill furnished the basis of his 
contemporary fame, and yet he must be considered also 
an eminent man of letters, not only because it is largely 
by his writings that he survives but because as a writer 
he constantly employed elements of imagination and wit 
much in excess of what he needed for the bare statement 
of his various causes. The Interest of Great Britain con- 
sidered with regard to her Colonies (1760), for instance, 
a lucid and impressive pamphlet, was quickly followed 
by the pointed skit, Of The Meanes of disposing the 
Enemie to Peace, which he brought forward as a chapter 
from a Jesuit work advising the King of Spain to trick 
England into a hasty peace by "pacifist" propaganda 
among the English. This, Franklin insinuated, with 
an eye on those who were then opposing the war for 
Canada, would do more than foreign armies could do to 
weaken the power and the future of the British Empire. 
Back in Pennsylvania from 1762 to 1764, he not only 
managed the defence of his colony against the Indians in 
Pontiac's war but wrote the most eloquent of his occa- 
sional works, A Narrative of the late Massacres in Lan- 
caster County (1764), against the atrocious murder by 
Scotch-Irish fanatics of unoffending and undefended 
Indians. Yery characteristically, he answered the ex- 
cuse of the fiery Presbyterians that the Scriptures had 
commanded Joshua to destroy the heathen, by citing 
instances of heathen hospitality and mercy, from the days 
of Homer to his own. These Indians, he concluded. 



INTEODUCTION xxix 

^^would have been safe in any Part of the known World, 
except in the Neighbourhood of the Christian White 
Savages of Peckstang and Donegall." The same sting- 
ing wrath appears in his preface to The Speech of Joseph 
Galloway, Esq. (1764), called forth by the continued war- 
fare between the Proprietors and the Assembly which sent 
Franklin late in 1764 again to England, when he was 
to remain, a few visits to the Continent excepted, for ten 
years. 

As against the one brilliant period in Edwards' life, 
that of the Great Awakening, there are three in Frank- 
lin's : his career as a colonial tradesman and official, his 
second mission to England, and his crowning diplomatic 
triumphs in France. Hardly had he arrived in England 
again when he wrote the amusing letter To the Editor of 
a Newspaper to parody the foolish reports about America 
then current in London. "The very Tails," he said, "of 
the American Sheep are so laden with wooU, that each 
has a little Car or Waggon on four Wheels, to support & 
keep it from trailing on the Ground" ; and "Whales, 
when they have a mind to eat Cod, pursue them wherever 
they fly ; . . . the grand Leap of the Whale in that Chase 
up the Ekll of Niagara is esteemed, by all who have seen 
it, as ofie of the finest Spectacles in Nature." Frank- 
lin's matchless knowledge of the real facts about America 
appears in the report of his examination before the House 
o£ Commons in the matter of the Stamp Act, a dialogue 
Which could not have been more dramatic and illuminat- 
ing if Franklin had been allowed to choose the questions 
as well as to make the replies — and indeed there is ground 
for a lively suspicion that certain of his friends among 
the questioners contributed deliberately to his triumph. 
A calm colonial Socrates, he seemed, said Burke, like 
a schoolmaster being catechised by his pupils. After the 
repeal of the Act, Franklin continued in London as agent 
for other Colonies than his own, Georgia from 1768, 
New Jersey from 1769, and Massachusetts from 1770. 
His correspondence and his conversations with the in- 
numerable acquaintances he made played a larger part 
in his successes than his more formal writings, but he 
still wrote spirited pamphlets — notably Causes of the 
American Discontents before 1768 (1768) and On the 
Risa and Progress of the Differences between Great 



V 



^ 



XXX INTKODUCTION 

Britain and her American Colonies (1774) — and kept up 
his trick of hoaxing articles in the newspapers. The most 
famous of these appeared in The Gentlemans Magazine 
in September, 1773 : An Edict of the King of Prussia ^ 
in which Frederick was made to claim rights in Great 
Britain sardonically like those claimed in the Colonies by 
the British Tories, on the ground "that the first German 
settlements made in the Island of Britain, were by colo- 
nies of people, subject to our renowned ducal ancestors, 
and drawn from their dominions, under the conduct of 
Hengist, Horsa, Hella, Uff, Cerdicus, Ida, and others ; 
and that the said colonies have flourished under the pro- 
tection of our august houses for ages past; have never 
been emancipated therefrom; and yet have yielded little 
profit to the same"; and Rules hy which a Great Empire 
may he reduced to a Small One, wherein Franklin, speak- 
ing as ^^a modern simpleton," advised a certain nameless 
minister to go on with the means the British ministry was 
then employing, in the confident expectation that a great 
empire could be reduced by the simple device of so insult- 
ing and injuring its distant provinces that they would 
fall away in anger. 

The familiar side of Franklin appeared during his 
English residence as it had not done before. Though the 
honors laid upon him by the worlds of learning and 
wealth and fashion could not spoil him, and to Deborah 
Franklin he still wrote in the homely dialect of their 
youth about all manner of homely affairs, he obviously 
flowered in the most congenial atmosphere he had ever 
known. "Of all the enviable Things England has," he 
had written to Mary Stevenson from Philadelphia in 
1763, "I envy it most its People. Why should that petty 
Island, which compared to America, is but like a stepping- 
Stone to a Brook, scarce enough of it above Water to keep 
one's Shoes dry; why, I say, should that little Island 
enjoy in almost every Neighbourhood, more sensible, \ 
virtuous, and elegant Minds, than we can collect in rang- { 
ing 100 Leagues of our vast Forests?" A colonist who j 
made Englishmen proud of the Empire, he was on friendly 
terms with the leaders of British opinion and action, and 
with their wives and daughters. His wit, though still 
naughty enough, was tempered by a nicer taste than he 
had employed toward his colonial readers. He bore him- 



INTKODUCTION xxxi 

self with tlie dignity becoming to the representative of 
his native country, with the discretion becoming to an 
ambassador who had a very complex misunderstanding to 
untangle. And yet he never grew stiff with his responsi- 
bilities. In his lighter correspondence his fun moved 
as easily and naturally when he wrote to the Bishop 
of St. Asaph or Lord Kames as when he wrote to Mary 
Stevenson, the charming girl in whose mother's house in 
Craven Street Franklin had lodgings during his English 
residence. It may be questioned whether the familiar 
Pranklin can anywhere else be better studied than in 
The Craven-Street Gazette, the mock journal which he 
kept in September 1770 during a temporary absence of 
Mrs. Stevenson, or whether sage playfulness can go be- 
yond the entry for 25 September, in which Franklin tells 
of Dorothea Blount's promise to marry either of the 
two great men. Lord Hutton or Franklin, whose wife 
should first leave him free "to obtain the proposed Com- 
fort." 

As wit and sage, however, Franklin was to go still fur- 
ther in France. Obliged to leave England by the ap- 
proach of hostilities, he returned to America long enough i 
to serve as delegate from Pennsylvania to the first Con- \ 
tinental Congress, to become American postmaster- * 
general, to assist in drafting the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence and to sign it, and then sailed for France to obtain 
help for the Colonies in the struggle. Of his diplomatic 
successes we need say no more than that he made himself 
easily the greatest of all American diplomats, whether 
he be measured by his actual achievements or by his less 
tangible contributions to the friendship of the two nations 
between which he stood as principal intermediary. It 
is plain, however, that in no small degree he owed those 
successes to the accomplished felicities of his pen and 
his conversation. Extraordinary as the comparison may 
seem, he came to Paris out of the backwoods of America 
as Edwards had come to Boston from the Berkshires, as 
the spokesman of an austerer, older creed. Paris, bored 
with novelty, was trifling with the notion of a state of 
nature — possibly the American continent — in which men, 
free of institutions, might be simple, virtuous, just, wise, 
and eloquent. All these things Franklin was — and no 
man less prompt than he to perceive in what light he was 



xxxii INTRODUCTION 

viewed by the French or less able to adapt himself to the 
colors they desired him to wear. "Cameleon Octogenaire" 
one malicious French poet called him, but few voices 
disturbed the harmony of praise and approval which long 
outlasted his stay. Had he been as simple as many 
thought him, he could not have seemed simple to so 
many. His career was a triumph of sophistication, a nice 
balancing and use of the means most valuable for his 
ends. As readily as he had become a man of affairs in 
Philadelphia, and a statesman in London, he became a 
courtier in Paris. The bagatelles which he printed at his 
own press at Passy — The Ephemera, Morals of Chess, The 
Whistle, Dialogue between Franklin and the Gout, An 
Economical Project — add to the substance of his solid 
and shrewd observation the salt of a wit which he had 
found prevalent in the gay salons of Madame Helvetius 
and Madame Brillon. To those ladies, and others, he 
wrote letters which must have made them wonder in what 
transatlantic forest he could have learned the language of 
gallantry so well. His freethinking, exercised in Eng- 
land on plans for a revision of the Prayer Book, now 
turned to the Bible itself, and he whimsically rendered 
a part of the book of Job into the jargon of modern poli- 
tics. If against England he aimed some acid satires, — • 
A Dialogue between Britain, France, Spain, Holland, 
Saxony, and America on England's political claims and 
the bogus Supplement to the Boston Independent Chron- 
icle bitterly condemning the British use of savages in the 
war — they were the only asperities he permitted himself. 
For the most part he ruled his temper with complete suc- 
cess, not undeserving of his reputation in France as the 
calmest and loftiest of men. 

The final years of his life, between his return from 
France in 1Y85 and his death in 1790, were indeed a twi- 
light after his flaming meridian and gorgeous afternoon, 
but a twilight without a shadow. Physical infirmities 
could not hinder his election, immediately upon his re- 
turn, as President of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. 
The inhabitants of western North Carolina declared 
themselves a separate state with the name of Franklin. 
In the Constitutional Convention he rendered precious 
services, wit and peacemaker as well as statesman. To 
the very end he kept his literary faculties, comparing 



INTEODUCTION xxxiii 

the Anti-Federalists to the ancient Jews with spirited 
irony, arraigning the Pennsylvania press for its abusive 
manners, and less than a month before his death parody- 
ing current pro-slavery arguments in what he pretended 
was the speech of a certain Algerian in defence of the 
enslavement of Europeans. Here, as in his latest corre- 
spondence, Franklin showed himself absolutely and mas- 
terfully at home in the world, and none the less so be- 
cause he viewed with untroubled eyes the prospect of an- 
other soon to follow. Almost the only regret which we 
may feel in connection with this closing scene is that it 
was too crowded to let him complete his Autobiography, 
which, admittedly one of the chief books of its kind, re- 
counts only his colonial days, and so has taught an im- 
mense posterity to think of him rather as tradesman, local 
wit, and provincial great man than as diplomatist, cour- 
tier, and statesman, the most completely representative 
and fully rounded figure which the eighteenth century 
produced in America and Europe. 

The most completely representative — and yet Edwards 
too was of that age, and must be kept sight of, a flaming 
point in the sober background of the picture. The dream 
of a divine paradise faded slowly from the New England 
imagination, the high crystal-walled city of the Pilgrim 
hope melted away stubbornly before the grayer, solider 
towns which the sons of the Pilgrims planted. If the 
weapons of Edwards, his unendurable doctrines, his irre- 
sistible imprecations, were terrible, so were those of 
Franklin ruthless, his confidence in the material world, 
his sure-footed prudence, and his commonsense, which de- 
stroyed as it built. We may not withhold from Edwards 
the tribute of perceiving that he was tragically born out 
of his true century, that fate cast him with a mystic's 
vision into a generation which was unlearning that vision 
in its discovery of human dignity and self-sufficiency; 
nor may we forget that it was Franklin's fortune as well 
as his glory that the inexplicable accident of birth threw 
him upon a coast which he could explore, every gulf and 
bay and farm and city, unhaunted by any innative mem- 
ories of a more illustrious region. Our sympathies are 
strongly with Franklin, in spite of some sentiment of pity 
for Edwards defeated, because we, as the sons of Franklin, 
naturally honor our ancestor. And yet after two hundred 



xxxiv INTKODUCTION 

years, now that pious ties have ceased to bind us very 
closely to one rather than the other, we can see that they 
are not merely ancestors, not merely protagonists of an 
eighteenth- century conflict, but also symbols of two prin- 
ciples perennially contending among men. Take away 
from Edwards the merely doctrinal implications in his 
conviction that ^^the work of God in the conversion of 
one soul, considered together with the source, foundation, 
and purchase of it, and also the benefit, end, and eternal 
issue of it, is a more glorious work of God than the cre- 
ating of the whole material universe," and there remains 
something by which the spirit of man is lifted and glori- 
fied above all the meaner dangers of life as in the revela- 
tions of the greatest prophets. Take away from Franklin 
some of the alloy of his earthiness, his too incessant 
shrewdness and his ranker appetites, and there remains 
the pure distillation of human experience, the quintessence 
of that indispensable wisdom which comes not from illu- 
mination but from the fruitfjil study of all that it is given 
to our senses and our reason to perceive. Poetry and 
prudence may each wonder that the other can find in his 
universe so much that seems important, and may each 
condemn the other for so great a waste of life, but man- 
kind at large profits by their disagreements. They divide 
the world, but so do they multiply it. 

Note. — ^With the courteous permission of The Mac- 
millan Company the Franklin items in this collection are 
reprinted from The Writings of Benjamin Franklin, New 
York, 1907, the text of which was carefully edited and 
collated by Albert Henry Smyth. Of the Edwards mate- 
rial, A Faithful Narrative is reprinted from the Worcester 
edition of 1832 and the remainder from S. E. D wight's 
Life of President Edwards, New York, 1830. Full bibli- 
ographies of Franklin and Edwards may be found in Vol- 
ume I of The Camhridge History of American Literature. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

DOGOOD PAPEES. No. lY. 

An fum etiam nunc vel Greece loqui vel Latine docendus? 

Cicero. 

To the Author of the New-England Courant. 

Sir, 

DISCOURSING the other Day at Dinner with my 
Reverend Boarder, formerly mentioned, (whom for Dis- 
tinction sake we will call by the Name of Clericus,) con- 
cerning the Education of Children, I ask'd his Advice 
about my young Son William, whether or no I had best 
bestow upon him Academical Learning, or (as our Phrase 
is) bring him up at our College: He perswaded me to do 
it by all Means, using many weighty Arguments with me, 
and answering all the Objections that I could form 
against it; telling me withal, that he did not doubt but 
that the Lad would take his Learning very well, and not 
idle away his Time as too many there now-a-days do. 
These words of Clericus gave me a Curiosity to inquire a 
little more strictly into the present Circumstances of that 
famous Seminary of Learning ; but the Information which 
he gave me, was neither pleasant, nor such as I expected. 

AS soon as Dinner was over, I took a solitary Walk into 
my Orchard, still ruminating on Clericus's Discourse with 
much Consideration, until I came to my usual Place of 
Retirement under the Great Apple-Tree; where having 
seated my self, and carelessly laid my Head on a verdant 
Bank, I fell by Des^rees into a soft and undisturbed Slum- 
ber. My waking Thoughts remained with me in my Sleep, 
and before I awak'd again, I dreamt the following 
DREAM. 

I FANCY'D I was travelling over pleasant and delight- 
ful Fields and Meadows, and thro' many small Country 

1 



2 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

Towns and Villages; and as I pass'd along, all Places re- 
sounded with the Fame of the Temple of LEAKNING: 
Every Peasant, who had wherewithal, was preparing to 
send one of his Children at least to this famous Place; 
and in this Cafe most of them consulted their own Purses 
instead of their Childrens Capacities : So that I observed, 
a great many, yea, the most part of those who were travel- 
ling thither, were little better than Dunces and Block- 
heads. Alas! Alas! 

AT length I entered upon a spacious Plain, in the Midst 
of which was erected a large and -stately Edifice: It was 
to this that a great Company of Youths from all Parts 
of the Country were going; so stepping in among the 
Crowd, I passed on with them, and presently arrived at 
the Gate. 

THE Passage was Kept by two sturdy Porters named 
Riches and Poverty, and the latter obstinately refused to 
give Entrance to any who had not first gain'd the Favour 
of the former; so that I observed, many who came even 
to the very Gate, were obliged to travel back again as 
ignorant as they came, for want of this necessary Quali- 
fication. However, as a Spectator I gain'd Admittance, 
and with the rest entred directly into the Temple. 

IN the Middle of the great Hall stood a stately and 
magnificent Throne, which was ascended to by two high 
and difficult Steps. On the Top of it sat LEAENING 
in awful State; she was apparelled wholly in Black, and 
surrounded almost on every Side with innumerable Vol- 
umes in all Languages. She seem'd very busily employed 
in writing something on half a Sheet of Paper, and upon 
Enquiry, I understood she was preparing a Paper, calFd, 
The Neiu-England Courant. On her Eight Hand sat Eng- 
lish, with a pleasant smiling Countenance, and handsome- 
ly attir'd; and on her left were seated several Antique Fig- 
ures with their Faces vail'd. I was considerably puzzl'd 
to guess who they were, until one informed me, (who 
stood beside me,) that those Figures on her left Hand 
were Latin, Greek, Hehrew, &c. and that they were very 
much reserved, and seldom or never unvail'd their Faces 
Tiere, and then to few or none, tho' most of those who have 
in this Place acquir'd so much Learning as to distinguish 
them from English, pretended to an. intimate Acquaint- 
ance with them. I then enquired of him, what could be 



DOGOOD PAPEKS 3 

the Reason why they continued vail'd, in this Place espe- 
cially: He pointed to the Foot of the Throne, where I 
saw Idleness, attended with Ignorance, and these (he in- 
formed me) were they, who first vaiFd them, and still 
kept them so. 

NOW I observed, that the whole Tribe who entred into 
the Temple with me, began to climb the Throne; but the 
Work proving troublesome and difficult to most of them, 
they withdrew their Hands from the Plow, and contented 
themselves to sit at the Foot, with Madam Idleness and 
her Maid Ignorance, until those who were assisted by 
Diligence and a docible Temper, had well nigh got up the 
first Step : But the Time drawing nigh in which they 
could no way avoid ascending, they were fain to crave 
the Assistance of those who had got up before them, and 
who, for the Reward perhaps of a Pint of Milk, or a Piece 
of Plumh-Cahe, lent the Lubbers a helping Hand, and 
sat them in the Eye of the World, upon a Level with 
themselves. 

THE other Step being in the same Manner ascended, 
and the usual Ceremonies at an End, every Beetle- Scull 
seem'd well satisfy 'd with his own Portion of Learning, 
tho' perhaps he was e'en just as ignorant as ever. And 
now the Time of their Departure being come, they 
march'd out of Doors to make Boom for another Com- 
pany, who waited for Entrance: And I, having seen all 
that was to be seen, quitted the Hall likewise, and went 
to make my Observations on those who were just gone 
out before me. 

SOME I perceiv'd took to Merchandizing, others to 
Travelling, some to one Thing, some to another, and some 
to Nothing; and many of them from henceforth, for 
want of Patrimony, liv'd as poor as church Mice, being 
unable to dig, and asham'd to beg, and to live by their 
Wits it was impossible. But the most Part of the Crowd 
went along a large beaten Path, which led to a Temple 
at the further End of the Plain, call'd, The Temple of 
Theology. The Business of those who were employed in 
this Temple being laborious and painful, I wondered ex- 
ceedingly to see so many go towards it; but while I was 
pondering this Matter in my Mind, I spy'd Pecunia be- 
hind a Curtain, beckoniilg to them with her Hand, which 
Sight immediately satisfy 'd me for whose Sake it was. 



4 BENJAMIN FEAISTKLIN 

that a great Part of them (I will not say all) travel'd 
that Road. In this Temple I saw nothing worth men- 
tioning, except the ambitious and fraudulent Contrivances 
of Plagius, who (notwithstanding he had been severely 
reprehended for such Practices before) was diligently 
transcribing some eloquent Paragraphs out of Tillotsoris 
Works, &c. to embellish his own. 

NOW I bethought my self in my Sleep, that it was 
Time to be at Home, and as I f ancy'd I was travelling 
back thither, I reflected in my Mind on the extream Folly 
of those Parents, who, blind to their Childrens Dulness, 
and insensible of the Solidity of their Skulls, because they 
think their Purses can afford it, will needs send them to 
the Temple of Learning, where, for want of a suitable 
Genius, they learn little more than how to carry them- 
selves handsomely, and enter a Room genteely, (which 
might as well be acquired at a Dancing-School,) and from 
whence they return, after Abundance of Trouble and 
Charge, as great Blockheads as ever, only more proud and 
self-conceited. 

WHILE I was in the midst of these unpleasant Reflec- 
tions, Clericus (who with a Book in his Hand was walk- 
ing under the Trees) accidentally awak'd me; to him I 
related my Dream with all its Particulars, and he, with- 
out much Study, presently interpreted it, assuring me, 
That it was a lively Representation of HARVARD COL- 
LEGE, Etcetera. 

I remain. Sir, 

Your Humhle Servant, 

Silence Dogood. 
[7-14 May, 1722.] 

DOGOOD PAPERS. No. VIL 

Give me the Muse, ivhose generous Force, 

Impatient of the Reins, 
Pursues an unattempted Course, 

Breaks all the Criticks Iron Chains. 

Watts. 

To the Author of the New-England Courant. 
Sir, 

It has been the Complaint of many Ingenious Foreign- 
ers, who have travell'd amongst us. That good Poetry is 



DOGOOD PAPEKS 5 

not to he expected in New-England. I am apt to Fancy, 
the Reason is, not because our Countrymen are altogether 
void of a Poetical Genius, nor yet because we have not 
those Advantages of Education which other Countries 
have, but purely because we do not afford that Praise and 
Encouragement which is merited, when any thing 
extraordinary of this Kind is produced among us : Upon 
which Consideration I have determined, when I meet with 
a Good Piece of New-England Poetry, to give it a suitable 
Encomium, and thereby endeavour to discover to the 
World some of its Beautys, in order to encourage the 
Author to go on, and bless the World with more, and more 
Excellent Productions. 

THEEE has lately appeared among us a most Excellent 
Piece of Poetry, entituled. An Elegy upon the much 
Lamented Death of Mrs. Mehitebell Kitel, Wife of Mr. 
John Kitel of Salem, Etc. It may justly be said in its 
Praise, without Flattery to the Author, that it is the 
most Extraordinary Piece that was ever wrote in New- 
England. The Language is so soft and Easy, the Expres- 
sion so moving and pathetick, but above all, the Yerse 
and Numbers so Charming and Natural, that it is almost 
beyond Comparison. 

The Muse disdains * 

Those Links and Chains, 

Measures and Rules of Vulgar Strains, 

And o^er the Laivs of Harmony a Sovereign Queen she reigns. 

I FIND no English Author, Ancient or Modern, whose 
Elegies may be compared with this, in respect to the Ele- 
gance of Stile, or Smoothness of Rhime; and for the 
affecting Part, I will leave your Readers to judge, if ever 
they read any Lines, that would sooner make them draw 
their Breath and Sigh, if not shed tears, than these fol- 
lowing. 

Come let us m,\Ourn, for we have lost a 

Wife, a Daughter, and a Sister, 
Who has lately taken Flight, and 

greatly we have mist her. 

In another place, 

1 Watts. 



6 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

Some little Time before she yielded up her Breath, 
She said, I ne'er shall hear one Sermon more on Earth, 
She hist her Hushand some little Time before she expired, 
Then leaned her HeoAJi the Pilloio on, just out of Breath and 
tir'd, 

BUT tlie Threefold Appellation in the first Line 

Wife, a Daughter, and a Sister, 



must not pass unobserved. That Line in the celebrated 
Watts, 

GUNSTON, the Just, the Generous\, and the Young, 

is nothing Comparable to it. The latter only mentions 
three Qualifications of one Person who was deceased, 
which therefore could raise Grief and Compassion but 
for One. Whereas the former, (our Tnost excellent Poet) 
gives his Header a Sort of an Idea of the Death of Three 
Persons J viz. 

— a Wife, a Daughter, and a Sister, 

which is Three Times as great a Loss as the Death of One, 
and consequently must raise Three Times as much Grief 
and Compassion in the Reader. 

I SHOULD be very much straitened for Room, if I 
should attempt to discover even half the Excellencies of 
this Elegy which are obvious to me. Yet I cannot omit 
one Observation, which is, that the Author has (to his 
Honour) invented a new Species of Poetry, which wants 
a Name, and was never before known. His muse scorns 
to be confin'd to the old Measures and Limits, or to 
observe the dull Rules of Criticks; 

Nor Rapin gives her Rules to fly, nor Purcell Notes to Sing. 

Watts. 

NOW 'tis Pity that such an Excellent Piece should not 
be dignify'd with a particular Name; and seeing it cannot 
justly be called, either Epic, Sapphic, Lyric, or Pindaric, 
nor any other Name yet invented, I presume it may, (in 
Honour and Remembrance of the Dead) be called the 



DOGOOD PAPEKS 7 

KITELIC. Thus much in the Praise of Kitelic Toetry, 
IT is certain, that those Elegies which are of our own 
Growth, (and our Soil seldom produces any other sort of 
Poetry) are by far the greatest part, wretchedly Dull and 
Pidiculous. Now since it is imagined by many, that our 
Poets are honest, well-meaning Fellows, who do their best, 
and that if they had but some Instructions how to govern 
Eancy with Judgment, they would make indifferent good 
Elegies; I shah, here subjoin a Receipt for that purpose, 
which was left me as a Legacy, (among other valuable 
Rarities) by my Reverend Husband. It is as follows, 

A RECEIPT to make a New-England 
Funeral ELEGY. 

For the Title of your Elegy. Of these you may have 
enough ready made to your Hands; hut if you should chuse 
to maJce it your self, you must he sure not to omit the 
words ^tatis Suae, which will Beautify it exceedingly. 

For the Subject of your Elegy. Take one of your 
Neighhours who has lately departed this Life; it is no 
great matter of what Age the Party dy'd, hut it will he 
hest if he went away suddenly, heing KilFd, Drown'd, 
or Frose to Death. 

Having chose the Person, take all his Virtues, Excel- 
lencies, &c. and if he have not enough, you may horrow 
some to make up a sufficient Quantity: To these add 
his last Words, dying Expressions, &c. if they are to he 
had; mix all these together, and he sure you strain them 
well. Then season all with a Handful or two of Melan- 
cholly Expressions, such as. Dreadful, Deadly, cruel 
cold Death, unhappy Fate, weeping Eyes, &c. Have 
mixed all these Ingredients well, put them into the 
empty Scull of some young Harvard; {hut in Case you 
have ne'er a One at Hand, you may use your oivn,') 
there let them Ferment for the Space of a Fortnight, 
and hy that Time they will he incorporated into a Body, 
which take out, and having prepared a sufficient Quan- 
tity of douhle Rhimes, such as Power, Flower; Quiver, 
Shiver; Grieve us. Leave us; tell you, excel you; Expe- 
ditions, Physicians; Fatigue him, Intrigue him; &c. 
you must spread all upon Paper, and if you can procure 
a Scrap of Latin to put at the End, it will garnish it 



8 BENJAMIN rKANEXIN 

mightily; then having affixed your Name at the Bottom, 
with a Mcestus Composuit, you will have an Excellent 
Elegy, 

N. B. This Receipt will serve when a Female is the 
Subject of your Elegy, provided you borrow a greater 
Quantity of Virtues, Excellencies, c6c. . . . 

Sir, 

Your Servant, 

Silence Dogood. 

P. S, I shall make no other Answer to Hypercarpus's 
Criticism on my last Letter than this, Mater me genuit, 
peperit mox filia matrem, 

[18-25 June, 1722.] 

AETICLES OF BELIEF AND ACTS OF EELIGION 

FIRST PRINCIPLES 

I believe there is one supreme, most perfect Being, 
Author and Father of the Gods themselves. For I believe 
that Man is not the most perfect Being but one, rather 
that as there are many Degrees of Beings his Inferiors, 
so there are many Degrees of Beings superior to him. 

Also, when I stretch my Imagination thro' and beyond 
our System of Planets, beyond the visible fix'd Stars them- 
selves, into that Space that is every Way infinite, and con- 
ceive it fiird with Suns like ours, each with a Chorus of 
Worlds forever moving round him, then this little Ball on 
which we move, seems, even in my narrow Imagination, 
to be almost Nothing, and myself less than nothing, and 
of no sort of Consequence. 

When I think thus, I imagine it great Vanity in me to 
suppose, that the Supremely Perfect does in the least 
regard such an inconsiderable Nothing as Man. More 
especially, since it is impossible for me to have any posi- 
tive clear idea of that which is infinite and incomprehen- 
sible, I cannot conceive otherwise than that he the Infinite 
Father expects or requires no Worship or Praise from us, 
but that he is even infinitely above it. 

But, since there is in all Men something like a natural 
principle, which inclines them to DEVOTION, or the Worship 
of some unseen Power; 



AETICLES OF BELIEF 9 

And since Men are endued with Eeason superior to all 
other Animals, that we are in our World acquainted with ; 

Therefore I think it seems required of me, and my Duty 
as a Man, to pay Divine Kegards to Something. 

I conceive then, that the Infinite has created many 
beings or Gods, vastly superior to Man, who can better 
conceive his Perfections than we, and return him a more 
rational and glorious Praise. 

As, among Men, the Praise of the Ignorant or of Chil- 
dren is not regarded by the ingenious Painter or Archi- 
tect, who is rather honoured and pleas'd with the appro- 
bation of Wise Men & Artists. 

It may be that these created Gods are immortal; or it 
may be that after many Ages, they are changed, and others 
Supply their Places. 

Howbeit, I conceive that each of these is exceeding wise 
and good, and very powerful ; and that Each has made for 
himself one glorious Sun, attended with a beautiful and 
admirable System of Planets. 

It is that particular Wise and good God, who is the 
author and owner of our System, that I propose for the 
object of my praise and adoration. 

For I conceive that he has in himself some of those 
Passions he has planted in us, and that, since he has given 
us Peason whereby we are capable of observing his Wis- 
dom in the Creation, he is not above caring for us, being 
pleas'd with our Praise, and offended when we slight Him, 
or neglect his Glory. 

I conceive for many Reasons, that he is a good Being; 
and as I should be happy to have so wise, good, and pow- 
erful a Being my Friend, let me consider in what manner 
I shall make myself most acceptable to him. 

Next to the Praise resulting from and due to his Wis- 
dom, I believe he is pleas'd and delights in the Happiness 
of those he has created ; and since without Virtue Man can 
have no Happiness in this World, I firmly believe he 
delights to see me Virtuous, because he is pleased when 
he sees Me Happy. 

And since he has created many Things, which seem 
purely designed for the Delight of Man, I believe he is not 
offended, when he sees his Children solace themselves in 
any manner of pleasant exercises and Innocent Delights; 
and I think no Pleasure innocent, that is to Man hurtful. 



10 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

I love him therefore for his Goodness, and I adore him 
for his Wisdom. 

Let me then not fail to praise my God continually, for it 
is his Due, and it is all I can return for his many Favours 
and great Goodness to me ; and let me resolve to be virtu- 
ous, that I may be happy, that I may please Him, who is 
delighted to see me happy. Amen ! 



ADORATION 

Prel. Being mindful that before I address the Deity, 
my soul ought to be calm and serene, free from Passion 
and Perturbation, or otherwise elevated with Rational Joy 
and Pleasure, I ought to use a Countenance that expresses 
a filial Respect, mixed w^^ a kind of Smiling, that Signifies 
inward Joy, and Satisfaction, and Admiration. 

O wise God, my good Father! 

Thou beholdest the sincerity of my Heart and of my 
Devotion; Grant me a Continuance of thy Favour! 

1. O Creator, O Father! I believe that thou art Good, 
and that thou art pleased with the pleasure of thy children. 
— Praised be thy name for Ever ! 

2. By thy Power hast thou made the glorious Sun, with 
his attending Worlds ; from the energy of thy mighty Will, 
they first received [their prodigious] motion, and by thy 
Wisdom hast thou prescribed the wondrous Laws, by which 
they move. — Praised be thy name for Ever ! 

3. By thy Wisdom hast thou formed all Things. Thou 
hast created Man, bestowing Life and Reason, and placed 
him in Dignity superior to thy other earthly Creatures. — 
Praised be thy name for Ever ! 

4. Thy Wisdom, thy Power, and thy Goodness are 
everywhere clearly seen ; in the air and in the water, in the 
Heaven and on the Earth ; Thou providest for the various 
winged Fowl, and the innumerable Inhabitants of the 
Water ; thou givest Cold and Heat, Rain and Sunshine, in 
their Season, & to the Fruits of the Earth Increase.— 
Praised be thy name for Ever ! 

5. Thou abhorrest in thy Creatures Treachery and 
Deceit, Malice, Revenge, llntemperance,'] and every other 
hurtful Vice; but Thou art a Lover of Justice and Sin- 
cerity, of Friendship and Benevolence, and every Virtue. 



AETICLES OF BELIEF 11 

Thou art my Friend, my Father, and my Benefactor. — 
Praised be thy name, O God, for Ever ! Amen ! 

[After this, it will not be improper to read part of some 
such Book as Ray's Wisdom of God in the Creation, or 
BlacJcmore on the Creation, or the Archbishop of Cam- 
bray's Demonstration of the Being of a God, &c., or else 
spend some Minutes in a serious Silence, contemplating 
on those Subjects.] 

Then sing* 

Milton's hymn to the creator 

"These are thy Glorious Works, Parent of Good! 
Almighty, Thine this Universal Frame, 
Thus wondrous fair! Thyself how wondrous then! 
Speak ye who best can tell, Ye Sons of Light, 
Angels, for ye behold him, and with Songs 
And Choral Symphonies, Day without Night, 
Circle his Throne rejoicing you in Heav'n, 
On Earth join all ye creatures to extol 
Him first, him last, him midst, and without End. 

"Fairest of Stars, last in the Train of Night, 
If rather Thou belongst not to the Dawn, 
Sure Pledge of Day; thou crown'st the smiling Morn 
With thy bright Circlet, Praise him in thy Sphere 
While Day arises, that sweet Hour of Prime. 
Thou Sun, of this great World, both Eye and Soul, 
Acknowledge him thy greater; Sound his Praise 
In thy eternal Course; both when thou climb'st, 
And when high Noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st. 
Moon! that now meet'st ihe orient sun, now fly'st, 
With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies, 
And ye five other wandering Fires, that move 
In mystic Dance not without Song; resound 
His Praise, that out of Darkness called up Light. 
Air! and ye Elements! the eldest Birth 
Of Nature's womb, that in Quaternion run 
Perpetual Circle, multiform, and mix 
And nourish all things, let your ceaseless Change 
Vary to our great Maker still new Praise. 
Ye mists and Exhalations, that now rise 
From Hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey, 
Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with Gold, 
In honour to the World's Great Author rise; 
Whether to deck with Clouds tlie uncolor'd sky, 
Or wet the thirsty I^arth wth falling show'rs, 
Rising or falling still advance his Praise. 



12 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

His Praise, ye Winds! that from 4 quarters blow, 
Breathe soft or Loud; and wave your Tops, ye Pines! 
With every Plant, in sign of worship wave. 
Fountains! and ye that warble, as ye flow 
Melodious Murmurs, warbling tune his Praise. 
Join voices all ye living souls, ye Birds! 
That singing, up to Heaven's high gate ascend, 
Bear on your wings, & in your Note his Praise; 
Ye that in Waters glide! and ye that walk 
The Earth! and stately tread or lowly creep; 
Witness if I he silent, Ev'n or Morn, 
To Hill, or Valley, Fountain, or Fresh Shade, 
Made Vocal by my Song, and taught his Praise." 

[Here follows the Reading of some Book, or part of a 
Book, Discoursing on and exciting to Moral Virtue.] 

PETITION 

Inasmuch as by Reason of our Ignorance We cannot be 
certain that many Things, which we often hear mentioned 
in the Petitions of Men to the Deity, would prove real 
Goods, if they were in our Possession, and as I have rea- 
son to hope and believe that the Goodness of my Heavenly 
Father will not withold from me a suitable share of Tem- 
poral Blessings, if by a Virtuous and holy Life I conciliate 
his Favour and Kindness, Therefore I presume not to 
ask such things, but rather humbly and with a Sincere 
Heart, express my earnest desires that he would graciously 
assist my Continual Endeavours and Resolutions of 
eschewing Vice, and embracing Virtue; which Kind of 
Supplications will at least he thus far beneficial, as they 
remind me in a solemn manner of my Extensive duty. 

That I may be preserved from Atheism & Infidelity, 
Impiety, and Profaneness, and, in my Addresses to Thee, 
carefully avoid Irreverence and ostentation, Formality and 
odious Hypocrisy, — ^Help me, O Father! 

That I may be loyal to my Prince, and faithful to my 
country, careful for its good, valiant in its defence, and 
obedient to its Laws, abhorring- Treason as much as 
Tyranny — Help me, O Father! 

That I may to those above me be dutiful, humble, and 
submissive; avoiding Pride, Disrespect, and Contumacy, 
— Help me, O Father! 



AETICLES OF BELIEF 13 

That I may to those below me be gracious, Condescend- 
ing, and Forgiving, using Clemency, protecting innocent 
Distress, avoiding Cruelty, Harshness, and oppression, In- 
solence, and unreasonable Severity, — Help me, O Father ! 

That I may refrain from Censure, Calumny and De- 
traction; that I may avoid and abhor Deceit and Envy, 
Fraud, Flattery, and Hatred, Malice, Lying, and Ingrati- 
tude, — ^Help me, O Father! 

That I may be sincere in Friendship, faithful in trust, 
and Impartial in Judgment, watchful against Pride, and 
against Anger (that momentary Madness), — ^Help me, O 
Father! 

That I may be just in all my Dealings, temperate in my 
Pleasures, full of Candour and Ingenuity, Humanity and 
Benevolence, — Help me, O Father ! 

That I may be grateful to my Benefactors, and generous 
to my Friends, exercising Charity and Liberality to the 
Poor, and Pity to the Miserable, — Help me, O Father ! 

That I may avoid Avarice and Ambition, Jealousie, and 
Intemperance, Falsehood, Luxury, and Lasciviousness, — 
Help me, O Father ! 

That I may possess Integrity and Evenness of Mind, 
Resolution in Difficulties, and Fortitude under Affliction; 
that I may be punctual in performing my promises. Peace- 
able and prudent in my Behaviour, — ^Help me, O Father ! 

That I may have Tenderness for the Weak, and reverent 
Respect for the Ancient ; that I may be Kind to my i^eigh- 
bours, good-natured to my Companions, and hospitable 
to Strangers, — ^Help me, O Father! 

That I may be averse to Talebearing, Backbiting, De- 
traction, Slander, & Craft, and overreaching, abhor Extor- 
tion, Perjury, and every Kind of wickedness, — ^Help me, 
O Father! 

That I may be honest and open-hearted, gentle, merci- 
ful, and good, cheerful in spirit, rejoicing in the Good of 
others, — Help me, O Father ! 

That I may have a constant Regard to Honour and 
Probity, that I may possess a perfect innocence and a 
good Conscience, and at length become truly Virtuous and 
Magnanimous, — ^Help me, good God ; help me, O Father ! ^ 

^At this point the original Ms. ends. The subsequent paragraph, 
Including the "Thanks," is found only in William Temple Frank- 
lin's transcript, now in the Library of Congress. 



14 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

And, forasmucli as ingratitude is one of the most odious 
of vices, let me not be unmindful gratefully to acknowl- 
edge the favours I receive from Heaven. 

THANKS 

For peace and liberty, for food and raiment, for com, 
and wine, and milk, and every kind of healthful nourish- 
ment, — Good God, I thank thee! 

For the common benefits of air and light ; for useful fire 
and delicious water, — Good God, I thank thee ! 

For knowledge, and literature, and every useful art, for 
my friends and their prosperity, and for the fewness of 
my enemies, — Good God, I thank thee ! 

For all thy innumerable benefits; for life, and reason, 
and the use of speech; for health, and joy, and every 
pleasant hour, — My good God, I thank thee! 

[20 November, 1728.] 

THE BUSY-BODY. No. 3 

Non vultus instantis Tyranni 

Mente quatit solida, — neque Auster, 
Dux inquieti turbidus Adriae, 
Nee fulminantis magna Jovis manus. 

— ^HOB. 

It is said that the Persians, in their ancient Constitu- 
tion, had publick Schools in which Virtue was taught as 
a Liberal Art or Science ; and it is certainly of more Con- 
sequence to a Man, that he has learnt to govern his Pas- 
sions ; in spite of Temptation to be just in his Dealings, 
to be Temperate in his Pleasures, to support himself with 
Fortitude under his Misfortunes, to behave with Prudence 
in all Affairs, and in every Circumstance of Life; I say, 
it is of much more real Advantage to him to be thus quali- 
fied, than to be a Master of all the Arts and Sciences in 
the World beside. 

Virtue alone is sufficient to make a Man Great, Glori- 
ous, and Happy. He that is acquainted with Cato, as I 
am, cannot help thinking as I do now, and will acknowl- 
edge he deserves the Name, without being honoured by it. 
Cato is a Man whom Fortune has plac'd in the most 
obscure Part of the Country. His Circumstances are such, 



THE BUSY-BODY 15 

as only put him above Necessity, without affording" him 
many Superfluities; Yet who is greater than Cato? I 
happened but the other Day to be at a House in Town, 
where> among others, were met Men of the most Note in 
this Place. Cato had Business with some of them, and 
knock'd at the Door. The most trifling Actions of a Man, 
in my Opinion, as well as the smallest Features and Linea- 
ments of the Face, give a nice Observer some Notion of 
his Mind. Methought he rapp'd in such a peculiar Man- 
ner, as seem'd of itself to express there was One, who 
deserv'd as well as desir'd Admission. He appeared in the 
plainest Country Garb; his Great Coat was coarse, and 
looked old and threadbare; his Linnen was homespun; his 
Beard perhaps of Seven Days' Growth; his Shoes thick 
and heavy; and every Part of his Dress corresponding. 
Why was this Man received with such concurring Respiect 
from every Person in the Room, even from those who had 
never known him or seen him before? It was not an 
exquisite Form of Person, or Grandeur of Dress, that 
struck us with Admiration. 

I believe long" Habits of Virtue have a sensible Effect 
on the Countenance. There was something in the Air of 
his Face, that manifested the true Greatness of his Mind, 
which likewise appeared in all he said, and in every Part 
of his Behaviour, obliging us to regard him with a Kind, 
of Veneration. His Aspect is sweetened with Humanity 
and Benevolence, and at the same Time emboldned with 
Resolution, equally free from a diffident Bashfulness and 
an unbecoming Assurance. The Consciousness of his own 
innate Worth and unshaken Integrity renders him calm 
and undaunted in the Presence of the most Great and 
Powerful, and upon the most extraordinary Occasions. 
His strict Justice and known Impartiality make him the 
Arbitrator and Decider of all Differences, that arise for 
many Miles around him, without putting his Neighbours 
to the Charge, 'Perplexity, and Uncertainty of Law-Suits. 
He always speaks the Thing Ee means, which he is never 
afraid or asham'd to do, because he knows he always means 
well, and therefore is never oblig'd to blush, and feel the 
Confusion of finding himself detected in the Meanness of 
a Falsehood. He never contrives 111 against his Neigh- 
bour, and therefore is never seen with a lowring, sus- 
picious Aspect. A mixture of Innocence and Wisdom 



16 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

makes him ever seriously cheerful. His generous Hos- 
pitality to Strangers, according to his Ability; his Good- 
ness, his Charity, his Courage in the Cause of the Op- 
pressed, his Fidelity in Friendship, his Humility, his Hon- 
esty and Sincerity, his Moderation, and his Loyalty to 
the Government; his Piety, his Temperance, his Love to 
Mankind, his Magnanimity, his Publick-Spiritedness, and 
in fine, his consummate Virtue, make him justly deserve 
to be esteem'd the Glory of his Country. 

"The Brave do never shun the Light; 
Just are their Thoughts, and open are their Tempers; 
Freely without Disguise they love and hate; 
Still are they found in the fair Face of Day, 
And Heaven and Men are Judges of their Actions." 

— RowE. 

Who would not rather chuse, if it were in his Choice, to 
merit the above Character, than be the richest, the most 
learned, or the most powerful Man in the Province with- 
out it? 

Almost every Man has a strong natural Desire of being 
valu'd and esteem'd by the rest of his Species, but I am 
concerned and griev'd to see how few fall into the Eight 
and only infallible Method of becoming so. That laudable 
Ambition. is too commonly misapply'd, and often ill em- 
ployed. Some to make themselves considerable pursue 
Learning, others grasp at Wealth; some aim at being 
thought witty; and others are only careful to make the 
most of an handsome Person ; But what is Wit, or Wealth, 
or Form, or Learning, when compared with Virtue? ^Tis 
true, we love the handsome, we applaud the Learned, and 
we fear the Pich and Powerful; but we even Worship and 
adore the Virtuous. Nor is it strange; since Men of Vir- 
tue are so rare, so very rare to be found. If we were as 
industrious to become Good as to make ourselves Great, 
we should become really Great by being Good, and the 
Number of valuable Men would be much increased; but 
it is a Grand Mistake to think of being Great without 
Goodness; and I pronounce it as certain, that there was 
never yet a truly Great Man, that was not at the same 
Time truly Virtuous. 

O Cretico! thou sowre Philosopher! Thou cunning 



THE BUSY-BODY 17 

Statesman! Thou art crafty, but far from being Wise. 
When wilt thou be esteem'd, regarded, and belov'd like 
Cato? When wilt thou, among thy Creatures, meet with 
that unfeign'd respect and warm Good-will, that all Men 
have for him? Wilt thou never understand, that the 
cringing, mean, submissive Deportment of thy Depend- 
ents, is (like the worship paid by Indians to the Devil) 
rather thro' Fear of the Harm thou may'st do to them, 
than out of Gratitude for the Favours they have received 
of thee? Thou art not wholly void of Virtue; there are 
many good Things in thee, and many good Actions re- 
ported of thee. Be advised by thy Friend. Neglect those 
musty Authors; let them be cover'd with Dust, and 
moulder on their proper Shelves; and do thou apply thy- 
self to a Study much more profitable. The knowledge of 
Mankind and of thyself. 

This is to give Notice, that the Busy-Body strictly for- 
bids all Persons, from this Time forward, of what Age, 
Sex, Rank, Quality, Degree, or Denomination soever, on 
any Pretence, to enquire who is the Author of this Paper, 
on Pain of his Displeasure, (his own near and Dear Bela- 
tions only excepted.) 

'Tis to be observed, that if any bad Characters happen 
to be drawn in the Course of these Papers, they mean no 
particular Person, if they are not particularly apply'd. 

Likewise, that the Author is no Party-man, but a gen- 
eral Meddler. 

N. B. Cretico lives in a neighbouring Province. 

^Pennsylvania Gazette, 18 February, 1728-9.] 



THE BUSY-BODY. No. 4 
Ne quid nimis. 

In my first Paper I invited the Learned and the In- 
genious to join with me in this Undertaking, and I now 
repeat that Invitation. I would have such Gentlemen 
take this Opportunity (by trying their Talent in Writing) 
of diverting themselves and their Friends, and improving 
the Taste of the Town. And because I would encourage 
all Wit of our own Growth and Produce, I hereby prom- 



18 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

ise, that whoever shall send me a little Essay on some 
moral or other Subject, that is fit for publick View in 
this Manner, (and not basely borrowed from any other 
Author,) I shall receive it with Candour, and take care 
to place it to the best Advantage. It will be hard if we 
cannot muster up in the whole Country a sufficient Stock 
of Sense to supply the Busy -Body at least for a Twelve- 
month. 

Eor my own Part, I have already profess'd, that I have 
the Good of my Country wholly at Heart in this Design, 
without the least sinister View; my chief Purpose being 
to inculcate the noble Principles of Virtue, and depreciate 
Vice of every kind. But, as I know the Mob hate Instruc- 
tion, and the Generality would never read beyond the first 
Line of my Lectures, if they were actually fill'd with 
nothing but wholesome Precepts and Advice, I must 
therefore sometimes humor them in their own Way. There 
are a Set of Great Names in the Province, who are the 
common Objects of Popular Dislike. If I can now and 
then overcome my Reluctance, and prevail with myself 
to satyrize a little one of these Gentlemen, the Expecta- 
tion of meeting with such a Gratification will induce 
many to read me through, who would otherwise proceed 
immediately to the Foreign News. As I am very well 
assured the greatest Men among us have a sincere Love 
for their Country, notwithstanding its Ingratitude, and 
the Insinuations of the Envious and Malicious to the 
contrary, so I doubt not but they will chearfully tolerate 
me in the Liberty I design to take for the End above 
mentioned. 

As yet I have but few Correspondents, tho' they begin 
now to increase. The following Letter, left for me at the 
Printer's, is one of the first I have receiVd, which I 
regard the more for that it comes from one of the Fair 
Sex, and because I have myself oftentimes suffered under 
the Grievance therein complain'd of. 



"to the busy-body 

''Sir, 

"You having set yourself up for a Censuror Morum, (as 
I think you call it), which is said to liiean a Peformer of 
Manners, I know no Person more proper to be apply'd to 



THE BUSY-BODY 19 

for Redress in all the Grievances we suffer from Want of 
Manners, in some People. You must know I am a single 
Woman, and keep a Shop in this Town for a Livelyhood. 
There is a certain Neighbour of mine, who is really agree- 
able Company enough, and with whom I have had an 
Intimacy of some Time standing; but of late she makes 
her visits so excessively often, and stays so very long 
every Visit, that I am tir^d out of all Patience. I have 
no Manner of Time at all to myself; and you, who seem 
to be a wise Man, must needs be sensible that every Per- 
son has little Secrets and Privacies, that are not proper 
to be expos'd even to the nearest Priend. Now I cannot 
do the least Thing in the World, but she must know all 
about it; and it is a Wonder I have found an Opportunity 
to write you this Letter. My Misfortune is, that I respect 
her very well, and know not how to disoblige her so much 
as to tell her I should be glad to have less of her. Company ; 
for if I should once hint such a Thing, I am afraid she 
would resent it so as never to darken my Door again. 

"But alas. Sir, I have not yet told you half my Affliction. 
She has two Children, that are just big enough to run 
about and do pretty Mischief; these are continually along 
with Mamma, either in my Boom or Shop, if I have ever 
so many Customers or People with me about Business. 
Sometimes they pull the Goods off my low Shelves down 
to the Ground, and perhaps where one of them has just 
been making Water. ^ My Friend takes up the Stuff, and 
cries, ^Eh! thou little wicked mischievous Bogue! But, 
however, it has done no great Damage; ^tis only wet a lit- 
tle;' and so puts it up upon the Shelf again. Sometimes 
they get to my Cask of Nails behind the Counter, and di- 
vert themselves, to my great Vexation, with mixing my 
Ten-penny, and Eight-penny, and Eour-penny, together. I 
endeavour to conceal my Uneasiness as much as possible, 
and with a grave Look go to Sorting them out. She 
cries, ^Don't thee trouble thyself, Neighbour: Let them 
play a little; Pll put all to rights myself before I go.' 
But Things are never so put to rights, but that I find a 
great deal of Work to do after they are gone. Thus, Sir, 
I have all the Trouble and Pesterment of Children, with- 
out the Pleasure of — calling them my own; and they 
are now so us'd to being here, that they will be content 
nowhere else. If she would have been so kind as to have 



20 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

moderated her Visits to ten times a Day, and stay'd but 
lialf an hour at a Time, I should have been contented, 
and I believe never have g^iven you this Trouble. But 
this very Morning they have so tormented me, that I 
could bear no longer; for, while the Mother was asking 
me twenty impertinent Questions, the youngest got to my 
Nails, and with great Delight rattled them by handfuls all 
over the Floor ; and the other, at the same time, made such 
a terrible Din upon my Counter with a Hammer, that I 
grew haK distracted. I was just then about to make 
myself a new Suit of Pinners; but in the Fret and Con- 
fusion I cut it quite out of all Manner of Shape, and 
utterly spoil'd a Piece of the first Muslin. 

"Pray, Sir, tell me what I shall do; and talk a little 
against such unreasonable Visiting in your next Paper; 
tho' I would not have her affronted with me for a great 
Deal, for sincerely I love her and her Children, as well, 
I think, as a Neighbour can, and she buys a great many 
Things in a Year at my Shop. But I would beg her to 
consider, that she uses me unmercifully, Tho' I believe 
it is only for want of Thought. But I have twenty Things 
more to tell you besides all this : There is a handsome 
Gentleman, that has a Mind (I don't question) to make 
love to me, but he can't get the least Opportunity to — 
O dear! here she comes again; I must conclude, yours, &c. 

"Patience." 

Indeed, 'tis well enough, as it happens, that she is come 
to shorten this Complaint, which I think is full long 
enough already, and probably would otherwise have been 
as long again. However, I must confess, I cannot help 
pitying my Correspondent's Case; and, in her Behalf, 
exhort the Visitor to remember and consider the Words 
of the Wise Man, "Withdraw thy Foot from the House of 
thy Neighbour, lest he grow weary of thee, and so hate 
thee." It is, I believe, a nice thing, and very difficult, 
to regulate our Visits in such a Manner, as never to give 
Offence by coming too seldom, or too often, or departing 
too abruptly, or staying too long. However, in my Opin- 
ion, it is safest for most People in a general way, who 
are unwilling to disoblige, to visit seldom, and tarry but 
a little while in a Place, notwithstanding pressing invita- 
tions, which are many times insincere. And tho' more 



THE EUSY-BODY 21 

of your Company should be really desir'd, yet in this 
Case, too much Eeservedness is a Eault more easily ex- 
cused than the Contrary. 

Men are subjected to various Inconveniences meerly 
through lack of a small share of Courage, which is a 
Quality very necessary in the common Occurrences of 
-Life as well as m a Battle. How many Impertinences do 
we daily suffer with great Uneasiness, because we have 
not Courage enough to discover our Dislike? And why 
may not a Man use the Boldness and Freedom of telling 
his Friends that their long Visits sometimes incommode 
mm { Cn this Occasion, it may be entertaining to some 
of my Keaders, if I acquaint them with the Turkish Man- 
ner of entertaining Visitors, which I have from an Author 
of unquestionable Veracity; who assures us, that even 
the Turks are not so ignorant of Civility and the Arts of 
Jindearment, but that they can practise them with as 
much Exactness as any other Nation, whenever they have 
a IMmd to shew themselves obliging. 

"When you visit a Person of Quality," (says he) "and 
have talk d over your Business, or the Complements, or 
whatever Concern brought you thither, he makes a Sign to 
have Things serv'd in for the Entertainment, which is gen- 
TnV "l^ Sweetmeat, a Dish of Sherbet, and another 
ot Oottee; all which are immediately brought in by the 
Servants, and tender'd to all the Guests in Order, with 
tlie gre,atest Care and Awfulness imaginable. At last 
comes the finishing Part of your Entertainment, which is 
Perfuming the Beards of the Company; a Ceremony which 
IS perform d m this Manner. They have for the Purpose 
a small Silver Chaffing-Dish, cover'd with a Lid full of 
-H-Oles, and fixed upon a handsome Plate. In this they 
put some fresh Coals, and upon them a piece of Lignum 
Aloes, and shutting it up, the smoak immediately ascends 
with a grateful Odour thro' the Holes of the Cover. This 
smoak IS held under every one's Chin, and offer'd as it 
were a Sacrifice to his Beard. The bristly Idol soon re- 
ceives the Eeverence done to it, and so greedily takes in 
and incorporates the gummy Steam, that it retains the 
bavour of it* and may serve for a Nosegay a good while 

"This Ceremony may perhaps seem ridiculous at first 
Hearing, but it passes among the Turks for a high Grati- 



22 BENJAMIN FKANEXIN 

fication. And I will say this in its Vindication, that its 
Design is very wise and useful. For it is understood to 
give a civil Dismission to the Visitants, intimating to 
them, that the Master of the House has Business to do, 
or some other Avocation, that permits them to go away 
as soon as they please, and the sooner after this Ceremony 
the better. By this Means you may, at any Time, with- 
out Offence, deliver yourself from being detain'd from 
your Affairs by tedious and unseasonable Visits; and 
from being constrained to use that Piece of Hypocrisy, so 
common in the World, of pressing those to stay longer 
with you, whom perhaps in your Heart you wish a great 
Way off for having troubled you so long already.'^ 

Thus far my Author. For my own Part, I have taken 
such a Fancy to this Turkish Custom, that for the future 
I shall put something like it in Practice. I have pro- 
vided a Bottle of right French Brandy for the Men, and 
Citron- Water for the Ladies. After I have treated with 
a Dram, and presented a Pinch of my best Snuff, I expect 
all Company will retire, and leave me to pursue my 
Studies for the Good of the Publick. 

ADVERTISEMENT 

I give Notice, that I am now actually compiling, and 
design to publish in a short Time, the true History of the 
Rise, Growth, and Progress of the renowned Tiff-Club. 
All Persons who are acquainted with any Facts, Circum- 
stances, Characters, Transactions, &c. which will be requi- 
site to the Perfecting and Embellishment of the said 
Work, are desired to communicate the same to the Author, 
and direct their Letters to be left with the Printer hereof. 

The Letter, sign'd ''Would-he-something," is come to 
hand. 

[Pennsylvania Gazette, 25 February, 1728-9.] 

THE BUSY-BODY. No. 8 

Quid non mortalia pectora cogis, 
Auri sacra fames! 

— ^VlBGIL. 

One of the greatest Pleasures an Author can have, is 
certainly the Hearing his Works applauded. The hiding 



THE BUSY-BODY 23 

from the World our Names, while we publish our 
Thoughts, is so absolutely necessary to this Self-Gratifi- 
cation, that I hope my Well-wishers will congratulate me 
on my Escape from the many diligent but fruitless En- 
quiries, that have of late been made after me. Every 
Man will own, That an Author, as such, ought to be 
try'd by the Merit of his Production only; but Pride, 
Party, and Prejudice at this Time run so very high, that 
Experience shews we form our ISTotions of a Piece by the 
Character of the Author. Nay, there are some very 
humble Politicians in and about this City, who will ask 
on which Side the Writer is, before they presume to give 
their Opinion of the Thing wrote. This ungenerous 
Way of Proceeding I was well aware of before I published 
my first Speculation, and therefore concealed my Name. 
And I appeal to the more generous Part of the World, 
if I have since I appeared in the Character of the Busy- 
Body, given an Instance of my siding with any Party 
more than another, in the unhappy Divisions of my Coun- 
try; and I have, above all, this Satisfaction in myself, 
that neither Affection, Aversion, or Interest have byass'd 
me to use any Partiality towards any Man, or sett of 
Men; but whatsoever I find nonsensically ridiculous, or 
immorally dishonest, I have, and shall continue openly to 
attack, with the Freedom of an honest Man and a Lover 
of my Country. 

I profess I can hardly contain myself, or preserve the 
Gravity and Dignity, that should attend the Censorial 
Office, when I hear the odd and unaccountable Exposi- 
tions, that are put upon some of my Works, thro' the ma- 
licious Ignorance of some, and the vain Pride of more 
than ordinary Penetration in others; one Instance of 
which many of my Readers are acquainted with. A cer- 
tain Gentleman has taken a great Deal of Pains to write 
a Key to the Letter in my No. 4, wherein he has ingeni- 
ously converted a gentle Satyr upon tedious and imperti- 
nent Visitants, into a Libel on some in the Government. 
This I mention only as a Specimen of the Taste of the 
Gentlemen I am, forsooth, bound to please in my Specula- 
tions, not that I suppose my Impartiality will ever be 
called in Question upon that Account. Injustices of this 
Nature I could complain of in many Instances ; but I am 
at present diverted by the Reception of a Letter, which, 



24 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

tho' it regards me only in my Private Capacity as an 
Adept, yet I venture to publish it for the Entertainment 
of my Readers. 

To Censor Morum, Esq., Busy-Body General of the Prov- 
ince of Pennsylvania, and the counties of Newcastle, 
Kent, and Sussex upon Delaware^ 

^'Honourahle Sir, 

"I judge by your Lucubrations, that you are not only a 
Lover of Truth and Equity, but a Man of Parts and 
Learning and a Master of Science; as such I honour you. 
Know, then. Most profound Sir, That I have, from my 
Youth up, been a very indefatigable Student in and Ad- 
mirer of that Divine Science, Astrology. I have read over 
Scot, Albertus Magnus, and Cornelius Agrippa, above 300 
Times ; and was in hopes, by my Knowledge and Industry, 
to gain enough to have recompenced me for my Money 
expended and Time lost in the Pursuit of this Learning. 
You cannot be ignorant. Sir, (for your intimate Second- 
sighted Correspondent knows all Things) that there are 
large Sums of Money hidden under Ground in divers 
Places about this Town, and in many Parts of the Coun- 
try; but, alas. Sir, Notwithstanding I have used all the 
Means laid down in the immortal Authors before men- 
tioned, and when they fail'd, the ingenious Mr. P — d — ^1, 
with his Mercurial Wand and Magnet, I have still fail'd 
in my Purpose. This therefore I send, to propose and 
desire an Acquaintance with you; and I do not doubt, 
notwithstanding my repeated 111 Fortune, but we may 
be exceedingly serviceable to each other in our Discov- 
eries ; and that if we use our united Endeavours, the Time 
will come when the Busy-Body, his Second-sighted Cor- 
respondent, and your very humble Servant, will be Three 
of the richest Men in the Province. And then, Sir, what 
may not we do ? A Word to the Wise is sufficient. I con- 
clude, with all demonstrable Pespect, yours and Urania's 
Votary, 

"Titan Pleiades.'' 

In the Evening, after I had received this Letter, I made 

1 This letter of "Titan Pleiades" was written by Joseph Brient- 
nal. — Ed. 



THE BUSY-BODY 25 

a Visit to my Second-sighted Friend, and communicated 
to him the Proposal. When he had read it, he assured me, 
that to his certain Knowledge there is not at this Time so 
much as one Ounce of Silver or Gold hid under Ground 
in any Part of this Province: For that the late and 
. present Scarcity of Money had obliged those, who were 
living, and knew where they had formerly hid any, to 
take it up, and use it in their own necessary Affairs. And 
as to all the Rest, which was buried by Pyrates and others 
in old Times, who were never like to come for it, he him- 
self had dug it all up and applied it to charitable Uses; 
And this he desired me to publish for general Good. For, 
as he acquainted me. There are among us great Numbers 
of honest Artificers and labouring People, who fed with 
a vain Hope of growing suddenly rich, neglect their Busi- 
ness, almost' to the ruining of themselves and Families, 
and voluntarily endure abundance of Fatigue in a fruit- 
less Search after Imaginary hidden Treasure. They wan- 
der thro' the Woods and Bushes by Day, to discover the 
Marks and Signs; at Midnight they repair to the hopeful 
Spot with Spades and Pickaxes; full of Expectation, they 
labour violently, trembling at the same Time, in every 
Joint, thro' Fear of certain malicious Demons, who are 
said to haunt and guard such Places. At length a mighty 
hole is dug, and perhaps several Cart-loads of Earth 
thrown out; but, alas, no Gag or Iron Pot is found! No 
Seaman's Chest cram'd with Spanish Pistoles, or weighty 
Pieces of Eight! Then they conclude, that, thro some 
Mistake in the Procedure, some rash Word spoke, or some 
Pule of Art neglected, the Guardian Spirit had Power to 
sink it deeper into the Earth, and convey it out of their 
Reach. Yet when a Man is once thus infatuated, he is so 
far from being discouraged by ill Success, that he is 
rather animated to double his Industry, and will try again 
and again in a Hundred Different Places, in Hopes at 
last of meeting with some lucky Hit, that shall at once 
sufficiently reward him for all his Expence of Time and 
Labour. 

This odd humour of Digging for Money, thro' a Belief 
that much has been hid by Pirates formerly frequenting 
the River, has for several Years been mighty prevalent 
among us; insomuch that you can hardly walk half a Mile 
out of Town on any Side, without observing several Pits 



26 BENJAMIN FEANEXIN 

dug with that Design, and perhaps some lately opened. 
Men, otherwise of very good Sense, have been drawn into 
this Practice thro^ an overweening Desire of sudden 
Wealth, and an easy Credulity of what they so earnestly 
wished might be true; while the rational and almost cer- 
tain Methods of acquiring Riches by Industry and Fru- 
gality are neglected or forgotten. There seems to be 
some peculiar Charm in the conceit of finding Money; 
and if the Sands of Schuylkil were so much mixed with 
small Grains of Gold, that a Man might in a Day's Time, 
with Care and Application, get together to the Value of 
half a Crown, I make no Question but we should find 
several People employed there, that can with Ease earn 
Five Shillings a Day at their proper Trades. 

Many are the idle Stories told of the private Success of 
some People, by which others are encouraged to proceed; 
and the Astrologers, with whom the Country swarms at 
this Time, are either in the Belief of these things them- 
selves, or find their Advantage in persuading others to 
believe them; for they are often consulted about the crit- 
ical Times for Digging, the Methods of laying the Spirit, 
and the like Whimseys, which renders them very neces- 
sary to, and very much caress'd by the poor deluded 
Money-hunters. 

There is certainly something very bewitching in the 
Pursuit after Mines of Gold and Silver and other valu- 
able Metals; And many have been ruined by it. A Sea- 
Captain of my Acquaintance us'd to blame the English 
for envying Spain their Mines of Silver, and too much 
despising or overlooking the Advantages of their own 
Industry and Manufactures. "For my P^rt," says he, "I 
esteem the Banks of Newfoundland to be a more valuable 
Possession than the Mountains of Potosi; and, when I 
have been there on the Fishing Account, have looked upon 
every cod puU'd up into the Vessel as a certain Quantity 
of Silver Ore, which required only carrying to the next 
Spanish Port to be coin'd into Pieces of Eight; not to 
mention the National Profit of fiting out and Employing 
such a Number of Ships and Seamen." 

Let honest Peter Buckrum, who has long without Suc- 
cess been a Searcher after hidden Money, reflect on this, 
and be reclaimed from that unaccountable Folly. Let him 
consider, that every Stitch he takes, when he is on his 



THE BUSY-BODY 27 

Shopboard, is picking up part of a Grain of Gold, that 
will in a few Days' Time amount to a Pistole; and let 
Faber think the same of every Nail he drives, or every 
Stroke with his Plain. Such Thoughts may make them 
industrious, and of consequence in Time they may be 
Wealthy. But how absurd is it to neglect a certain ProJS.t 
foT such a ridiculous Whimsey: To spend whole Days 
at the George, in company with an idle Pretender to As- 
trology, contriving Schemes to discover what was never 
hidden, and forgetful how carelessly Business is managed 
at Home in their Absence; to leave their Wives and a 
warm Bed at midnight (no matter if it rain, hail, snow, 
or blow a Hurricane, provided that be the critical Hour), 
and fatigue themselves with the Violent Exercise of Dig- 
ging for what they shall never find, and perhaps getting 
a Cold that may cost their Lives, or at least disordering 
themselves so as to be fit for no Business beside for some 
Days after. Surely this is nothing less than the most 
egregious Folly and Madness. 

I shall conclude with the Words of my discreet friend 
Agricola, of Chester County, when he gave his Son a Good 
Plantation. "My son," says he, "I give thee now a Valu- 
able Parcel of Land; I assure thee I have found a con- 
siderable Quantity of Gold by Digging there; thee mayst 
do the same. But thee must carefully observe this. 
Never to dig more than Plow-deep/' 

[Pennsylvania Gazette, 27 March, 1729.] 

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN PHILOCLES AND 
HOKATIO, MEETING ACCIDENTALLY IN 
THE FIELDS, CONCEENING VIKTUE AND 
PLEASUEE. 

Philocles, My friend Horatio! I am very glad to see 
you; prithee, how came such a Man as you alone? and 
musing too? What Misfortune in your Pleasures has 
sent you to Philosophy for Belief? 

Horatio, You guess very right, my dear Philocles! We 
Pleasure-hunters are never without 'em; and yet, so en- 
chanting is the Game ! we can't quit the Chace. How calm 
and undisturbed is your Life! How free from present 
Embarrassments and future Cares'! I know you love me, 



28 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

and look with Compassion upon my Conduct; Shew me 
then the Path which leads up to that constant and in- 
variable Good, which I have heard you so beautifully 
describe, and which you seem so fully to possess. 

Phil, There are few Men in the World I value more 
than you, Horatio! for amidst all your Foibles and pain- 
ful Pursuits of Pleasure, I have oft observed in you an 
honest Heart, and a Mind strongly bent towards Virtue. 
I wish, from my Soul, I could assist you in acting steadily 
the P^rt of a reasonable Creature; for, if you would not 
think it a Paradox, I should tell you I love you better 
than you do yourseK. 

Hot, a Paradox indeed! Better than I do myself! 
When I love my dear self so well, that I love every Thing 
else for my own sake. 

Phil. He only loves himseK well, who rightly and judi- 
ciously loves himself. 

Hor, What do you mean by that, Philocles! You Men 
of Reason and Virtue are always dealing in Mysteries, 
tho' you laugh at 'em when the Church makes 'em. I 
think he loves himself very well and very judiciously too, 
as you call it, who allows himseK to do whatever he 
pleases. 

Phil, What, though it be to the ruin and Destruction 
of that very Self which he loves so well! That Man alone 
loves himself rightly, who procures the greatest possible 
Good to himself thro' the whole of his Existence; and so 
pursues Pleasure as not to give for it more than 'tis 
worth. 

Hor, That depends all upon Opinion. Who shall judge 
what the Pleasure is worth? Supposing a pleasing Form 
of the fair Kind strikes me so much, that I can enjoy 
nothing without the Enjoyment of that one Object. Or, 
that Pleasure in general is so favorite a Mistress, that I 
will take her as Men do their Wives, for better, for worse ; 
mind no Consequences, nor regarding what's to come. 
Why should I not do it? 

Phil, Suppose, Horatio, that a Friend of yours entred 
into the World about Two-and-Twenty, with a healthful 
vigorous Body, and a fair plentiful Estate of about Five 
Hundred Pounds a Year; and yet, before he had reached 
Thirty, should, by following his Pleasures, and not, as 
you say, duly regarding Consequences, have run out of 



CONCEENING VIETUE AND PLEASUEE 29 

his Estate, and disabled his Body to that Degree, that 
he had neither the Means nor Capacity of Enjoyment left, 
nor any Thing else to do but wisely shoot himself through 
the Head to be at rest; what would you say to this unfor- 
tunate Man's Conduct ? Is it wrong by Opinion or Fancy 
only? Or is there really a Eight and Wrong in the Case? 
Is not one Opinion of Life and Action juster than an- 
other? Or, one Sort of Conduct preferable to another? 
Or, does that miserable Son of Pleasure appear as reason- 
able and lovely a Being in your Eyes, as a Man who, by 
prudently and rightly gratifying hi^ natural Passions, 
had preserved his Body in full Health, and his Estate 
entire, and enjoyed both to a good old Age, and then died 
with a thankful Heart for the good Things he had re- 
ceived, and with an entire Submission to the Will of Him 
who first called him into Being? Say, Horatio! are these 
Men equally wise and happy? And is every Thing to 
be measured by mere Fancy and Opinion, without con- 
sidering whether that Fancy or Opinion be right? 

Hot, Hardly so neither, I think; yet sure the wise 
and good Author of Nature could never make us to 
plague us. He could never give us Passions, on purpose 
to subdue and conquer 'em; nor produce this Self of 
mine, or any other self, only that it may be denied; for 
that is denying the Works of the great Creator himself. 
Self-denial, then, which is what I suppose you mean by 
Prudence, seems to me not only absurd, but very dishon- 
ourable to that Supreme Wisdom and Goodness, which is 
supposed to make so ridiculous and Contradictious a 
Creature, that must be always fighting with himself in 
order to be at rest, and undergo voluntary Hardships in 
order to be happy: Are we created sick, only to be com- 
manded to be Sound? Are we born under one Law, our 
Passions, and yet bound to another, that of Eeason? An- 
swer me, Philocles, for I am warmly concerned for the 
Honour of Nature, the Mother of us all. 

Phil, I find, Horatio, my two Characters have af- 
frighted you; so that you decline the Trial of what is 
Good, by reason: And had rather make a bold Attack 
upon Providence; the usual Way of you Gentlemen of 
Fashion, who, when by living in Defiance of the eternal 
Rules of Eeason, you have plunged yourselves into a thou- 
sand Difficulties, endeavour to make yourselves easy by 



30 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

throwing" the Burden upon Nature. You are, Horatio, 
in a very miserable Condition indeed; for you say you 
can't be happy if you controul your Passions ; and you feel 
yourself miserable by an unrestrained Gratification of 
^ena; so that here's Evil, irremediable Evil, either way. 

Hor, That is very true, at least it appears so to me: 
Pray, what have you to say, Philocles! in Honour of 
Nature or Providence; methinks Pm in Pain for her: 
How do you rescue her? poor Lady! 

Phil, This, my dear Horatio , I have to say ; that what 
you find Fault with and clamour against, as the most ter- 
rible Evil in the World, Self-denial; is really the greatest 
Good, and the highest Self-gratification : If indeed, you 
use the Word in the Sense of some weak sour Moralists, 
and much weaker Divines, you'll have just Reason to laugh 
at it; but if you take it, as understood by Philosophers 
and Men of Sense, you will presently see her Charms, 
and fly to her Embraces, notwithstanding her demure 
Looks, as absolutely necessary to produce even your own 
darling sole Good, Pleasure: For, Self-denial is never a 
Duty, or a reasonable Action, but as 'tis a natural Means 
of procuring more Pleasure than you can taste without 
it so that this grave. Saintlike Guide to Happiness, as 
rough and dreadful as she has been made to appear, is in 
truth the kindest and most beautiful Mistress in the 
World. 

Hor. Prithee, Philocles! do not wrap yourself in Alle- 
gory and Metaphor. Why do you teaze me thus ? I long 
to be satisfied, what this Philosophical Self-denial is; the 
Necessity and Peason of it; I'm impatient, and all on 
Fire; explain, therefore, in your beautiful, natural easy 
Way of Reasoning, what I'm to understand by this grave 
Lady of yours, with so forbidding, downcast Looks, and 
yet so absolutely necessary to my Pleasures. I stand ready 
to embrace her; for you know. Pleasure I court under all 
Shapes and Forms. 

Phil. Attend then, and you'll see the Reason of this 
Philosophical Self-denial. There can be no absolute Per- 
fection in any Creature; because every Creature is de- 
rived, and dependent: No created Being can be All- wise. 
All-good, and All-powerful, because his Powers and Ca- 
pacities are finite and limited; consequently whatever is 
created must, in its own Nature, be subject to Error, 



CONCERNING VIRTUE AND PLEASURE 31 

Irregularity, Excess, and Disorder. All intelligent, ra- 
tional Agents find in themselves a Power of judging what 
kind of Beings they are; what Actions are proper to pre- 
serve 'em, and what Consequences will generally attend 
them, what Pleasures they are form'd for, and to what 
Degree their Natures are capable of receiving them. All 
we have to do then, Horatio, is to consider, when we are 
surpriz'd with a new Object, and passionately desire to 
enjoy it, whether the gratifying that Passion be consistent 
with the gratifying other Passions and Appetites, equal 
if not more necessary to us. And whether it consists with 
our Happiness To-morrow, next Week, or next Year; for, 
as we all wish to live, we are obliged by Reason to take 
as much Care for our future, as our present Happiness, 
and not build one upon the Ruins of t'other. But, if thro' 
the Strength and Power of a present Passion, and thro' 
want of attending to Consequences, we have err'd and ex- 
ceeded the Bounds which Nature or Reason have set us; 
we are then, for our own Sakes, to refrain, or deny our- 
selves a present momentary Pleasure for a future, con- 
stant and durable one: So that this Philosophical Self- 
denial is only refusing to do an Action which you strongly 
desire; because 'tis inconsistent with your Health, For- 
tunes, or Circumstances in the World ; or, in other Words, 
because 'twould cost you more than 'twas worth. You 
would lose by it, as a Man of Pleasure. Thus you see, 
Horatio! that Self-denial is not only the most reasonable, 
but the most pleasant Thing in the World. 
• Hor* We are just coming into Town, so that we can't 
pursue this Argument any farther at present; you have 
said a great deal for Nature, Providence, and Reason : 
Happy are they who can follow such divine Guides. 

Phil. Horatio! good Night; I wish you wise in your 
Pleasures. 

Hor. I wish, Philocles! I could be as wise in my Pleas- 
ures as you are pleasantly Wise; your Wisdom is agree- 
able, your Virtue is amiable, and your Philosophy the 
highest Luxury. Adieu ! thou enchanting Reasoner ! 

^Pennsylvania Gazette, 23 June, 1730.] 



82 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

A SECOND DIALOGUE BETWEEN PHILOCLES 
AND HOKATIO, CONCEKNING VIETUE AND 
PLEASUEE. 

Philocles. Dear Horatio! where hast thou been these 
three or four Months? What new Adventures have you 
fallen upon since I met you in these delightful, all-inspir- 
ing Fields, and wondred how such a Pleasure-hunter as 
you could bear being alone? 

Horatio. O Philocles, thou best of Friends, because a 
Friend to Reason and Virtue, I am very glad to see you. 
Don't you remember, I told you then, that some Misfor- 
tunes in my Pleasures had sent me to Philosophy for 
Belief? But now I do assure you, I can, without a Sigh, 
leave other Pleasures for those of Philosophy; I can hear 
the Word Reason mentioned, and Virtue praised, without 
Laughing. Don't I bid fair for Conversion, think you? 

Phil. Very fair, Horatio! for I remember the Time 
when Reason, Virtue, and Pleasure, were the same Thing 
with you: When you counted nothing Good but what 
pleas'd, nor any thing Beasonable but what you got by; 
When you made a Jest of a Mind, and the Pleasures of 
Beflection, and elegantly plac'd your sole Happiness, like 
the rest of the Animal Creation, in the Gratifications of 
Sense. 

Hor. I did so: But in our last Conversation, when 
walking upon the Brow of this Hill, and looking down on 
that broad, rapid Biver, and yon widely-extended beauti- 
fully-varied Plain, you taught me another Doctrine : You 
shewed me, that Self-denial, which above all Things I 
abhorred, was really the greatest Good, and the highest 
Self -gratification, and absolutely necessary to produce even 
my own darling sole Good, Pleasure. 

Phil. True: I told you that Self-denial was never a 
Duty but when it was a natural Means of procuring more 
Pleasure than we could taste without it: That as we all 
strongly desire to live, and to live only to enjoy, we should 
take as much Care about our future as our present Happi- 
ness ; and not build one upon the Buins of 'tother : That 
we should look to the End, and regard Consequences : and 
if, thro' want of Attention we had err'd, and exceeded the 
Bounds which Nature had set us, we were then obliged, 
for our own Sakes, to refrain or deny ourselves a present 



CONCERNING VIRTUE AND PLEASURE 33 

momentary Pleasure for a future, constant, and durable 
Good. 

Hot, You have shewn, Philocles, that Self-denial, 
which weak or interested Men have rendered the most 
forbidding, is really the most delightful and amiable, the 
most reasonable and pleasant Thing in the World. In a 
Word, if I understand you aright. Self-denial is, in Truth, 
Self-recognising, Self-acknowledging, or Self-owning. 
But now, my Friend! you are to perform another Prom- 
ise; and shew me the Path which leads up to that con- 
stant, durable, and invariable Good, which I have heard 
you so beautifully describe, and which you seem so fully 
to possess : Is not this Good of yours a mere Chimera ? 
Can any Thing be constant in a World which is eternally 
changing! and which appears to exist by an everlasting 
Revolution of one Thing into another, and where every 
Thing without us, and every Thing within us, is in per- 
petual Motion? What is this constant, durable Good, 
then, of yours? Prithee, satisfy my Soul, for Pm all on 
Fire, and impatient to enjoy her. Produce this eternal 
blooming Goddess with never-fading Charms, and see, 
whether I won't embrace her with as much Eagerness and 
Rapture as you. 

Phil. You seem enthusiastically warm, Horatio; I will 
wait till you are cool enough to attend to the sober, dis- 
passionate Voice of Reason. 

Hor. You mistake me, my dear Philocles! my Warmth 
is not so great as to run away with my Reason : it is only 
just raised enough to open my Faculties, and fit them to 
receive those eternal Truths, and that durable Good, which 
you so triumphantly boasted of. Begin, then ; I'm pre- 
pared. 

Phil. I will. I helieve, Horatio! with all your Skep- 
ticism about you, you will allow that Good to be constant 
which is never absent from you, and that to be durable, 
which never Ends but with your Being. 

Hor. Yes, go on. 

Phil. That can never be the Good of a Creature, which 
when present, the Creature may be miserable, and when 
absent, is certainly so. 

Hor. 1 think not ; but pray explain what you mean ; for 
I am not much used to this abstract Way of Reasoning. 

Phil. I mean all the Pleasures of Sense. The Good of 



34 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

Man cannot consist in the mere Pleasures of Sense; be- 
cause, when any one of those Objects which you love is 
absent, or can't be come at, you are certainly miserable: 
and if the Faculty be impaired, though the Object be pres- 
ent, you can't enjoy it. So that this sensual Good depends 
upon a thousand Things without and within you, and all 
out of your Power. Can this then be the Good of Man? 
Say, Horatio! what think you. Is not this a chequer'd, 
fleeting, fantastical Good? Can that, in any propriety 
of Speech, be called the Good of Man which even, while 
he is tasting, he may be miserable; and which when he 
cannot taste, he is necessarily so ? Can that be our Good, 
which costs us a great deal of Pains to obtain; which 
cloys in possessing; for which we must wait the Return 
of Appetite before we can enjoy again? Or, is that our 
Good, which we can come at without Difficulty; which is 
heightened by Possession, which never ends in Weariness 
and Disappointment; and which, the more we enjoy, the 
better qualified we are to enjoy on? 

Hor, The latter, I think; but why do you torment me 
thus? Philocles! shew me this Good immediately. 

Phil, I have shewed you what 'tis not ; it is not sensual, 
but 'tis rational and moral Good. It is doing all the Good 
we can to others, by Acts of Humanity, Friendship, Gen- 
erosity, and Benevolence: This is that constant and 
durable Good, which will afford Contentment and Satis- 
faction always alike, without Variation or Diminution. I 
speak to your Experience now, Horatio! Did you ever 
find yourself weary of relieving the Miserable? or of 
raising the Distressed into Life or Happiness ? Or rather, 
don't you find the Pleasure grow upon you by Repetition, 
and that 'tis greater in the Reflection than in the Act 
itself? Is there a Pleasure upon Earth to be compared 
with that which arises from the Sense of making others 
happy? Can this Pleasure ever be absent, or ever end 
but with your Being? Does it not always accompany 
you? Doth not it lie down and rise with you? live as 
long as you live? give you Consolation in the Article of 
Death, and remain with you in that gloomy Hour, when 
all other Things are going to forsake you, or you them? 

Hor, How glowingly you paint, Philocles! Methinks 
Horatio is amongst the Enthusiasts. I feel the Passion: 
I am enchantingly convinced; but I don't know why: 



CONCEENING VIETUE AND PLEASUEE 35 

Overborn by something stronger than Eeason. Sure some 
Divinity speaks within me; but prithee, Philocles, give 
me cooly the Cause, why this rational and moral Good so 
infinitely excels the meer natural or sensual. 

Phil. I think, Horatio! that I have clearly shewn you 
the Difference between merely natural or sensual Good, 
and rational or moral Good. Natural or sensual Pleasure 
continues no longer than the Action itself ; but this divine 
or moral Pleasure continues when the Action is over, and 
swells and grows upon your Hand by Eeflection : The one 
is inconstant, unsatisfying, of short Duration, and at- 
tended with numberless Ills; the other is constant, yields 
full Satisfaction, is durable, and no Evils preceding, ac- 
companying, or following it. But, if you enquire farther 
into the Cause of this Difference, and would know why 
the moral Pleasures are greater than the sensual; per- 
haps the Eeason is the same as in all other Creatures, 
That their Happiness or chief Good consists in acting up 
to their chief Faculty, or that Faculty which distinguishes 
them from all Creatures of a different Species. The chief 
Faculty in a Man is his Eeason; and consequently his 
chief Good; or that which may be justly called his Good, 
consists not merely in Action, but in reasonable Action. 
By reasonable Actions, we understand those Actions which 
are preservative of the human Kind, and naturally tend 
to produce real and unmixed Happiness; and these Ac- 
tions, by way of Distinction, we call Actions morally 
Good. 

Hor. You speak very clearly, Philocles! but, that no 
Difficulty may remain upon my Mind, pray tell me what is 
the real Difference between natural Good and 111, and 
moral Good and 111? for I know several People who use 
the Terms without Ideas. 

PhiL That may be : The Difference lies only in this ; 
,that natural Good and 111 is Pleasure and Pain: Moral 
Good and 111 is Pleasure or Pain produced with Intention 
and Design; for ^tis the Intention only that makes the 
Agent morally Good or Bad. 

Hor. But may not a Man, with a very good Intention, 
do an ill Action? 

Phil. Yes, but, then he errs in his Judgment, tho' his 
Design be good. If his Error is inevitable, or such as, all 
Things considered, he could not help, he is inculpable: 



36 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

But if it arose through want of Diligence in forming his 
Judgment about the Nature of human Actions, he is im- 
moral and culpable. 

Hor, I find, then, that in order to please ourselves 
rightly, or to do good to others morally, we should take 
great Care of our Opinions. 

Phil, Nothing concerns you more; for, as the Happi- 
ness or real Good of Men consists in right Action, and 
right Action cannot be produced without right Opinion, it 
behoves us, above all Things in this World, to take Care 
that our Opinions of Things be according to the Nature 
of Things. The Foundation of all Virtue and Happiness 
is Thinking rightly. He who sees an Action is right, that 
is, naturally tending to Good, and does it because of that 
Tendency, he only is a moral Man ; and he alone is capable 
of that constant, durable, and invariable Good, which has 
been the Subject of this Conversation. 

Hor, How, my dear philosophical Guide, shall I be 
able to know, and determine certainly, what is Bight and 
Wrong in Life? 

Phil, As easily as you distinguish a Circle from a 
Square, or Light from Darkness. Look, Horatio^ into the 
sacred Book of Nature; read your own Nature, and view 
the Relation which other Men stand in to you, and you to 
them; and you'll immediately see what constitutes human 
Happiness, and consequently what is Bight. 

Hor, We are just coming into Town, and can say no 
more at present. You are my good Genius, Philocles, 
You have shewed me what is good. You have redeemed 
me from the Slavery and Misery of Folly and Vice, and 
made me a free and happy Being. 

Phil, Then I am the happiest Man in the World. Be 
steady, Horatio! Never depart from Beason and Virtue. 

Hor. Sooner will I lose my Existence. Good Nighty 
Philocles. 

Phil, Adieu! dear Horatio! 

[^Pennsylvania Gazette, 9 July, 1730.' 



A WITCH TEIAL AT MOUNT HOLLY 37 



A WITCH TEIAL AT MOUNT HOLLY 

"Saturday last, at Mount-Holly, about 8 Miles from 
this Place near 300 People were gathered together to see 
an Experiment or two tried on some Persons accused of 
Witchcraft. It seems the Accused had been charged with 
making their Neighbours' Sheep dance in an uncommon 
Manner, and with causing Hogs to speak and sing Psalms, 
etc., to the great Terror and Amazement of the king's good 
and peaceable Subjects in this Province ; and the Accusers, 
being very positive that if the Accused were weighed in 
Scales against a Bible, the Bible would prove too heavy 
for them; or that, if they were bound and put into the 
River they would swim; the said Accused, desirous to 
make Innocence appear, voluntarily offered to undergo 
the said Trials if 2 of the most violent of their Accusers 
would be tried with them. Accordingly the Time and 
Place was agreed on and advertised about the Country; 
The Accusers were 1 Man and 1 Woman : and the Accused 
the same. The Parties being met and the People got to- 
gether, a grand Consultation was held, before they pro- 
ceeded to Trial; in which it was agreed to use the Scales 
first; and a Committee of Men were appointed to search 
the Men, and a Committee of Women to search the 
Women, to see if they had any Thing of Weight about 
them, particularly Pins. After the Scrutiny was over a 
huge great Bible belonging to the Justice of the Place 
was provided, and a Lane through the Populace was made 
from the Justice's House to the Scales, which were fixed 
on a Gallows erected for that Purpose opposite to the 
House, that the Justice's Wife and the rest of the Ladies 
might see the Trial without coming amongst the Mob, 
and after the Manner of Moorfields a large Ring was also 
made. Then came out of the House a grave, tall Man 
carrying the Holy Writ before the supposed Wizard etc, 
(as solemnly as the Sword-bearer of London before the 
Lord Mayor) the Wizard was first put in the Scale, and 
over him was read, a Chapter out of the Books of Moses, 
and then the Bible was put in the other Scale, (which, be- 
ing kept down before) was immediately let go ; but, to the 
great Surprize of the Spectators, Flesh and Bonos came 
down plump, and outweighed that great good Book by 



38 be:n^jamin feanklin 

abundance. After the same Manner the others were served, 
and their Lumps of Mortality severally were too heavy for 
Moses and all the Prophets and Apostles. This being 
over, the Accusers and the rest of the Mob, not satisfied 
with this Experiment, would have the Trial by Water. 
Accordingly a most solemn Procession was made to the 
Mill-pond, where both Accused and Accusers being 
stripped (saving only to the Women their Shifts) were 
bound Hand and Foot and severally placed in the Water, 
lengthways, from the Side of a Barge or Flat, having for 
Security only a Pope about the Middle of each, which 
was held by some in the Flat. The accused man being 
thin and spare with some Difficulty began to sink at last; 
but the rest, every one of them, swam very light upon 
the Water. A Sailor in the Flat jump'd out upon the 
Back of the Man accused thinking to drive him down to 
the Bottom; but the Person bound, without any Help, 
came up some time before the other. The Woman Ac- 
cuser being told that she did not sink, would be duck'd 
a second Time; when she swam again as light as before. 
Upon which she declared, That she believed the Accused 
had bewitched her to make her so light, and that she would 
be ducked again a Hundred Times but she would duck the 
Devil out of her. The Accused Man, being surpriz'd at 
his own Swimming, was not so confident of his Innocence 
as before, but said, ^If I am a Witch, it is more than I 
know.^ The more thinking Part of the Spectators were of 
Opinion that any Person so bound and placed in the 
Water (unless they were mere Skin and Bones) would 
swim, till their Breath was gone, and their Lungs fill'd 
with Water. But it being the general Belief of the Popu- 
lace that the Women's shifts and the Garters with which 
they were bound help'd to support them, it is said they are 
to be tried again the next warm Weather, naked." 

[Pennsylvania Gazette, 22 October, 1730.] 

AN APOLOGY FOE PEINTEES 

Being frequently censur'd and condemned by different 
Persons for printing Things which they say ought not to 
be printed, I have sometimes thought it might be neces- 
sary to make a standing Apology for my self, and publish 



AN APOLOGY FOE PEINTEKS 39 

it once a Tear, to be read upon all Occasions of that Na- 
ture. Much Business has hitherto hindered the execution 
of this Design ; but having very lately given extraordinary 
Offence by printing an Advertisement with a certain N. 
B. at the End of it, I find an Apology more particularly 
requisite at this Juncture, tho' it happens when I have not 
yet Leisure to write such a Thing in the proper Form, 
and can only in a loose manner throw those Considera- 
tions together which should have been the Substance of it. 
I request all who are angry with me on the Account of 
printing things they don't like, calmly to consider these 
following Particulars. 

1. That the Opinions of Men are almost as various as 
their Faces; an Observation general enough to become a 
common Proverb, So many Men so many Minds, 

2. That the Business of Printing has chiefly to do with 
Mens Opinions; most things that are printed tending to 
promote some, or oppose others. 

3. That hence arises the peculiar TJnhappiness of that 
Business, which other Callings are no way liable to ; they 
who follow Printing being scarce able to do any thing in 
their way of getting a Living, which shall not probably 
give Offence to some, and perhaps to many; whereas the 
Smith, the Shoemaker, the Carpenter, or the Man of any 
other Trade, may work indifferently for People of all 
Persuasions, without offending any of them: and the 
Merchant may buy and sell with Jews, Turks, Hereticks 
and Infidels of all sorts, and get Money by every one of 
them, without giving Offence to the most orthodox, of any 
sort; or suffering the least Censure or 111 will on the Ac- 
count from any Man whatever. 

4. That it is as unreasonable in any one Man or Set of 
Men to expect to be pleas'd with every thing that is 
printed, as to think that nobody ought to be pleas'd but 
themselves. 

5. Printers are educated in the Belief, that when Men 
differ in Opinion, both Sides ought equally to have the 
Advantage of being heard by the Publick; and that when 
Truth and Error have fair Play, the former is always an 
overmatch for the latter: Hence they chearfully serve all 
contending Writers that pay them well, without regarding 
on which side they are of the Question in Dispute. 

6. Being thus continually employed in serving both 



40 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

Parties, Printers naturally acquire a vast TJneoncerned- 
ness as to the right or wrong Opinions contain'd in what 
they print; regarding it only as the Matter of their daily 
labour: They print things full of Spleen and Animosity, 
with the utmost Calmness and Indifference, and without 
the least Ill-will to the Persons reflected on; who never- 
theless unjustly think the Printer as much their Enemy as 
the Author, and join both together in their Resentment. 

7. That it is unreasonable to imagine Printers approve 
of everything they print, and to censure them on any 
particular thing accordingly; since in the way of their 
Business they print such great variety of things opposite 
and contradictory. It is likewise as unreasonable what 
some assert, ^That Printers ought not to print any Thing 
but what they approve;" since if all of that Business 
should make such a Eesolution, and abide by it, an End 
would thereby be put to Free Writing, and the World 
would afterwards have nothing to read but what happen'd 
to be the Opinions of Printers. 

8. That if all Printers were determined not to print 
any thing till they were sure it would offend no body, 
there would be very little' printed. 

9. That if they sometimes print vicious or stilly things 
not worth reading, it may not be because they approve 
such things themselves, but because the People are so 
viciously and corruptly educated that good things are not 
encouraged. I have known a very numerous Impression 
of Pobin Hood's Songs go off in this Province at 2s. per 
Book, in less than a Twelvemonth ; when a small Quantity 
of David's Psalms (an excellent Version) have lain upon 
my Hands above twice the Time. 

10. That notwithstanding what might be urg'd in be- 
half of a Man's being allow'd to do in the Way of his 
Business whatever he is paid for, yet Printers do con- 
tinually discourage the Printing of great Numbers of bad 
things, and stifle them in the Birth. I my self have con- 
stantly refused to print anything that might countenance 
Vice, or promote Immorality; tho' by complying in such 
Cases with the corrupt Taste of the Majority I might have 
got much Money. I have also always refus'd to print 
such things as might do real Injury to any Person, how 
much soever I have been solicited, and tempted with Offers 
of Great Pay; and how much soever I have by refusing 



AN APOLOGY FOE PKINTERS 41 

got the Ill-will of those who would have employ'd me. I 
have hitherto fallen under the Resentment of large Bodies 
of Men, for refusing absolutely to print any of their 
Party or Personal Reflections. In this Manner I have 
made my self many Enemies, and the constant Fatigue 
of denying is almost insupportable. But the Publick be- 
ing unacquainted with all this, whenever the poor Printer 
happens either through Ignorance or much Persuasion, to 
do any thing that is generally thought worthy of Blame, 
he meets with no more Friendship or Favour on the above 
Account, than if there were no Merit in't at all. Thus, 
as Waller says, 

Poets lose half the Praise they would have got 
Were it but known what they discreetly blot; 

Yet are censured for every bad Line found in their Works 
with the utmost Severity. 

I come now to the Particular Case of the N. B. above 
mentioned, about which there has been more Clamour 
against me, than ever before on any other Account. — In 
the Hurry of other Business an Advertisement was 
brought to me to be printed; it signified that such a Ship 
lying at such a Wharff, would sail for Barbadoes in such 
a Time, and that Freighters and Passengers might agree 
with the Captain at such a Place; so far is what's com- 
mon: But at the Bottom this odd Thing was added, 
^^N. B. ISTo Sea Hens nor Black Gowns will be admitted 
on any Terms." I printed it, and received my Money; 
and the Advertisement was stuck up round the Town as 
usual. I had not so much Curiosity at that time as to 
enquire the Meaning of it, nor did I in the least imagine 
it would give so much Offence. Several good Men are 
very angry with me on this Occasion; they are pleas'd to 
say I have too much Sense to do such things ignorantly; 
that if they were Printers they would not have done such 
a thing on any Consideration ; that it could proceed from 
nothing but my abundant Malice against Religion and the 
Clergy. They therefore declare they will not take any 
more of my Papers, nor have any farther Dealings with 
me; but will hinder me of all the Custom they can. All 
this is very hard! 

I believe it had been better if I had refused to print the 



42 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

said Advertisement. However, 'tis done, and cannot be 
revok'd. I have only the following few Particulars to 
offer, some of them in my behalf, by way of Mitigation, 
and some not much to the Purpose; but I desire none of 
them may be read when the Header is not in a very good 
Humour. 

1. That I really did it without the least Malice, and 
imagin'd the N. B. was plac'd there only to make the 
Advertisement star'd at, and more generally read. 

2. That I never saw the Word Sea-Hens before in my 
Life; nor have I yet ask'd the meaning of it; and tho' I 
had certainly known that Black Gowns in that place sig- 
nified the Clergy of the Church of England, yet I have 
that confidence in the generous good Temper of such of 
them as I know, as to be well satisfied such a trifling 
mention of their Habit gives them no Disturbance. 

3. That most of the Clergy in this and the neighboring 
Provinces, are my Customers, and some of them my very 
good Friends; and I must be very malicious indeed, or 
very stupid, to print this thing for a small Profit, if I 
had thought it would have given them just Cause of 
Offence. 

4. That if I^had much Malice against the Clergy, and 
withal much Sense; 'tis strange I never write or talk 
against the Clergy myself. Some have observed that 'tis 
a fruitful Topic, and the easiest to be witty upon of all 
others ; yet I appeal to the Publick that I am never guilty 
this way, and to all my Acquaintances as to my Conver- 
sation. 

5. That if a Man of Sense had Malice enough to desire 
to injure the Clergy, this is the foolishest Thing he could 
possibly contrive for that Purpose. 

6. That I got Five Shillings by it. 

7. That none who are angry with me would have given 
me so much to let it alone. 

8. That if all the People of different Opinions in this 
Province would engage to give me as much for not print- 
ing things they don't like, as I can get by printing them, 
I should probably live a very easy Life ; and if all Printers 
were everywhere so dealt by, there would be very little 
printed. 

9. That I am oblig'd to all who take my Paper, and 
am willing to think they do it out of meer Friendship. 



AN APOLOGY FOR PEINTERS 43 

I only desire they would think the same when I deal with 
them. I thank those who leave off, that they have taken 
it so long. But I beg they would not endeavour to dis- 
suade others, for that will look like Malice. 

10. That 'tis impossible any Man should know what he 
would do if he was a Printer. 

11. That notwithstanding the Rashness and Inexperi- 
ence of Youth, which is most likely to be prevailed with to 
do things that ought not to be done; yet I have avoided 
printing such Things as usually give Offence either to 
Church or State, more than any Printer that has followed 
the Business in this Province before. 

12. And lastly. That I have printed above a Thousand 
Advertisements which made not the least mention of Sea- 
Hens or Black Gowns; and this being the first Offence, I 
have the more Reason to expect Forgiveness. 

I take leave to conclude with an old Fable, which some 
of my Readers have heard before, and some have not. 

"A certain well-meaning Man and his Son, were travel- 
ling towards a Market Town, with an Ass which they had 
to sell. The Road was bad; and the old Man therefore 
rid, but the Son went a-foot. The first Passenger they 
met, asked the Father if he was not ashamed to ride by 
himself, and suffer the poor Lad to wade along thro' the 
Mire; this induced him to take up his Son behind him; 
He had not travelled far, when he met others, who said, 
they are two unmerciful Lubbers to get both on the Back 
of that poor Ass, in such a deep Road. Upon this the old 
Man gets off, and let his Son ride alone. The next they 
met called the Lad a graceless, rascally young Jackanapes, 
to ride in that Manner thro' the Dirt, while his aged 
Father trudged along on Foot; and they said the old Man 
was a Fool, for suffering it. He then bid his Son come 
down, and walk with him, and they travelled on leading 
the Ass by the Halter; 'till they met another Company, 
who called them a Couple of senseless Blockheads, for 
going both on Foot in such a dirty Way, when they had 
an empty Ass with them, which they might ride upon. 
The old Man could bear no longer; My Son, said he, it 
grieves me much that we cannot please all these People. 
Let me throw the Ass over the next Bridge, and be no 
further troubled with him." 

Had the old Man been seen acting this last Resolution, 



44 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN . 

lie would probably have been called a Fool for troubling 
himself about the different Opinions of all that were 
pleas'd to find Fault with him: Therefore, tho' I have 
a Temper almost as complying as his, I intend not to 
imitate him in this last Particular. I consider the Variety 
of Humors among Men, and despair of pleasing every 
Body ; yet I shall not therefore leave off Printing. I shall 
continue my Business. I shall not burn my Press and 
melt my Letters. 

[^Pennsylvania Gazette, 10 June, 1731.] 



LETTEK FEOM ANTHONY AFTEEWIT 

Mr, Gazetteer, 

I am an honest Tradesman, who never meant Harm to 
anybody. My Affairs went on smoothly while a Batche- 
lor ; but of late I have met with some Difficulties, of which 
I take the Freedom to give you an Account. 

About the Time I first addressed my present Spouse, 
her Father gave out in Speeches, that if she married a 
Man he liked, he would give with her £200 on the Day of 
Marriage. 'Tis true he never said so to me, but he always 
received me very kindly at his House, and openly coun- 
tenanced my Courtship. I form'd several fine Schemes 
what to do with this same £200, and in some Measure 
neglected my Business on that Account : But unluckily it 
came to pass, that when the old Gentleman saw I was 
pretty well engag'd, and that the Match was too far gone to 
be easily broke off; he, without any Beason given, grew 
very angry, forbid me the House, and told his Daughter, 
that if she married me he would not give her a Farthing. 
However, (as he foresaw) we were not to be disappointed 
in that Manner, but, having stole a Wedding, I took her 
home to my House, where we were not in quite so poor 
a Condition as the Couple describM in the Scotch Song, 
who had 

"Neither Pot nor Pan, 
But four bare Legs together," 

for I had a House tolerably furnished for an ordinary 
Man before. No thanks to Dad, who, I understand, was 



LETTEE FKOM ANTHONY AETEKWIT 45 

very much pleased with his politick Management. And I 
have since learn'd, that there are other old Curmudgeons 
(so called) besides him, who have this Trick to marry 
their Daughters, and yet keep what they might well spare^ 
till they can keep it no longer; But this by way of Di- 
gression; a Word to the Wise is enough. 

I soon saw, that with Care and Industry we might live 
tolerably easy and in Credit with our Neighbors; But 
my Wife had a strong Inclination to be a Gentlewoman. 
In Consequence of this, my old-fashioned Looking-Glass 
was one Day broke, as she said. No Mortal could tell which 
way. However, since we could not be without a Glass in 
the Boom, ''My Dear," says she, 'Ve may as well buy a 
large fashionable One, that Mr. Such-a-one has to sell; 
It will cost but little more than a common Glass, and will 
be much handsomer and more creditable." Accordingly, 
the Glass was bought and hung against the Wall : But in 
a Week's time I was made sensible, by little and little, that 
the Table was by no means suitable to such a Glass, And 
a more proper Table being procured, my Spouse, who was 
an excellent Contriver, informed me where we might have 
very handsome Chairs in the Way; and thus by Degrees 
I found all my old Furniture stow'd up in the Garret, and 
every thing below altered for the better. 

Had we stopped here, it might have done well enough; 
but my Wife being entertained with Tea by the Good 
Women she visited, we could do no less than the like when 
they visited us; and so we got a Tea-Table with all its 
Appurtenances of China and Silver. Then my Spouse 
unfortunately overworked herself in washing the House, 
so that we could do no longer without a Maid. Besides 
this, it happened frequently, that when I came home at 
One, the Dinner was but just put in the Pot, and my Dear 
thought really it had been hut Eleven: At other Times, 
when I came at the same Hour, She wondered I would stay 
so long, for Dinner was ready and had waited for me these 
two Hours, These Irregularities occasioned by mistaking 
the Time, convinced me, that it was absolutely necessary 
to buy a Clock, which my Spouse observed was a great 
Ornament to the Room! And lastly, to my Grief, she was 
frequently troubled with some Ailment or other, and 
nothing did her so much Good as Riding; And these 
Hachney Horses were such wretched ugly Creatures that 



46 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

— I bought a very fine pacing Mare, which cost £20 ; and 
hereabouts Affairs have stood for some Months past. 

I could see all along, that this Way of Living was ut- 
terly inconsistent with my Circumstances, but had not 
Eesolution enough to help it. Till lately, receiving a very 
severe Dun, which mentioned the next Court, I began in 
earnest to project Relief. Last Monday, my Dear went 
over the River to see a Relation and stay a Fortnight, 
because she could not bear the Heat of the Town. In the 
Interim I have taken my Turn to make Alterations; viz, 
I have tum'd away the Maid, Bag and Baggage, (for 
what should we do with a Maid, who have except my Boy 
none but ourselves ?) I have sold the fine Pacing Mare, and 
bought a good Milch Cow with £3 of the Money. I have 
disposed of the Tea Table, and put a Spinning- Wheel in 
its Place, which methinks looks very pretty: Nine empty 
Canisters I have stuff'd with Flax, and with some of the 
Money of the Tea-Furniture I have bought a Set of 
Knitting-Needles ; for to tell you a truth, which I would 
have go no farther, I hegin to want Stockings. The stately 
Clock I have transform'd into an Hour-Glass, by which 
I have gain'd a good round Sum, and one of the Pieces 
of the old Looking-Glass, squared and fram'd, supplies 
the Place of the Great One, which I have convey'd into a 
Closet, where it may possibly remain some Years. In 
short, the Face of Things is quite changed; and I am 
mightily pleased when I look at my Hour-Glass. What 
an Ornament it is to the Room! I have paid my Debts 
and find Money in my Pocket. I expect my Dame home 
next Friday, and, as your Paper is taken in at the House 
where she is, I hope the Reading of this will prepare her 
Mind for the above surprizing Revolutions. If she can 
conform to this new Scheme of Living, we shall be the 
happiest Couple perhaps in the Province, and by the 
Blessing of God may soon be in thriving Circumstances. 
I have reserved the great Glass, because I know her Heart 
is set upon it; I will allow her, when she comes in, to be 
taken suddenly ill with the Head-ach, the Stomach-ach, 
Fainting Fits, or whatever other Disorder she may think 
more proper, and she may retire to Bed as soon as she 
pleases: But, if I do not find her in perfect Health, 
both of Body and Mind, the next Morning, away goes the 
aforesaid Great Glass, with several other Trinkets I have 



LETTEE FROM CELIA SINGLE 47 

no Occasion for, to the Vendue that very Day. Which 
is the irrevocable Resolution 

Of, Sir, Her loving Husband, and 
Your very humble Servant, 

Anthony Afterwit. 
Postscript. You know we can return to our former Way 
of Living, when we please, if Dad will be at the Expence 
of it. 

[Pennsylvania Gazette, 10 July, 1732.] 

LETTER FROM CELIA SINGLE 

Mr, Gazetteer, 

I must needs tell you, that some of the Things you print 
do more Harm than Good; particularly I think so of my 
Neighbour the Tradesman's Letter, in one of your late 
Papers, which has broken the Peace of several Families, 
by causing Difference between Men and their Wives : I 
shall give you one Instance, of which I was an Eye and 
Ear Witness. 

Happening last Wednesday Morning to be in at Mrs. 
C — ss's, when her Husband returned from Market, among 
other Things which he had bought he show'd her some 
Balls of Thread. "My Dear,'' says he, "I like mightily 
those Stockings, which I yesterday saw Neighbour After- 
wit knitting for her Husband, of Thread of her own Spin- 
ning. I should be glad to have some such stockings my- 
self : I understand that your Maid Mary is a very good 
Knitter, and seeing this Thread in Market, I have bought 
it, that the Girl may make a Pair or two for me." Mrs. 
Careless was just then at the Glass, dressing her Head, 
and turning about with the Pins in her Mouth, ^Tord, 
Child," says she, "are you crazy? What Time has Mary 
to knit ? Who must do the Work, I wonder, if you set her 
to Knitting?" ^Perhaps, my Dear," says he, "you have a 
mind to knit 'em yourself; I remember, when I courted 
you, I once heard you say, that you had learn'd to knit 
of your Mother." "I knit Stockins for you!" says she; 
"not I truly! There are poor Women enough in Town, 
that can knit; if you please, you may employ them." 
"Well, but my Dear," says he, "you know a penny sav'd is 
a penny got, A pin a day is a groat a year, every little 
makes a muckle, and there is neither Sin nor Shame in 



48 BEN JAMI^T FEANKLIN 

Knitting a pair of Stockins ; why should you express such 
a mighty Aversion to it? As to poor Women, you know 
we are not People of Quality, we have no Income to main- 
tain us but what arises from my Labour and Industry: 
Methinks you should not be at all displeas'd, if you have 
an Opportunity to get something as well as myself." 

^*I wonder," says she, "how you can propose such a thing 
to me; did not you always tell me you would maintain me 

like a Gentlewoman? If I had married Captain , 

he would have scorn'd even to mention Knitting of Stock- 
ins." "Prithee," says he, (a little nettled,) "what do you 
tell me of your Captains? If you could have had him, I 
suppose you would, or perhaps you did not very well like 
him. If I did promise to maintain you like a Gentle- 
woman, I suppose 'tis time enough for that, when you 
know how to behave like one; Meanwhile 'tis your Duty 
to help make me able. How long, d'ye think, I can 
maintain you at your present Rate of Living ?" "Pray," 
says she, (somewhat fiercely, and dashing the Puff into 
the Powder-Box,) "don't use me after this Manner, for 
I assure you I won't bear it. This is the Fruit of your 
poison Newspapers; there shall come no more here, I 
promise you." "Bless us," says he, "what an unaccount- 
able thing is this? Must a Tradesman's Daughter, and 
the Wife of a Tradesman, necessarily and instantly be a 
Gentlewoman? You had no Portion; I am forc'd to work 
for a Living; you are too great to do the like; there's the 
Door, go and live upon your Estate, if you can find it; 
in short, I don't desire to be troubled w' ye." 

What Answer she made, I cannot tell ; for, knowing that 
a Man and his Wife are apt to quarrel more violently 
when before Strangers, than when by themselves, I got 
up and went out hastily: But I understand from Mary, 
who came to me of an Errand in the Evening, that they 
dined together pretty peaceably, (the Balls of Thread that 
had caused the Difference being thrown into the Kitchen 
Fire,) of which I was very glad to hear. 

I have several times in your Paper seen severe Reflec- 
tions upon us Women, for Idleness and Extravagance, but 
I do not remember to have once seen any such Animad- 
versions upon the Men. If I were dispos'd to be cen- 
sorious, I could furnish you with Instances enough. I 
might mention Mr. Billiard, who spends more than he 



LETTEE FROM ALICE ADDEETONGUE 49 

earns at the Green Table, and would have been in Jail 
long since, were it not for his industrious Wife: Mr. 
Husslecap, who, often all day long, leaves his Business 
for the rattling of Half -pence, in a certain Alley: Mr. 
Finikin, who has eeven different Suits of fine cloaths, and 
wears a Change every Day, while his Wife and Children 
sit at home half naked: Mr. Crownhim, who is always 
dreaming over the Chequer-Board, and cares not how 
the World goes, so he gets the game: Mr. T'otherpot, the 
Tavern-haunter ; Mr. Bookish, the everlasting Eeader ; Mr. 
Toot-a-toot, and several others, who are mighty diligent 
at any thing beside their Business. I say, if I were dis- 
posed to be censorious, I might mention all these and 
more, but I hate to be thought a Scandalizer of my 
Neighbours, and therefore forbear; and for your part, I 
would advise you for the future to entertain your Eeaders 
with something else, beside People's Eeflections upon one 
another; for remember, that there are Holes enough to 
be pick'd in your Coat, as well as others, and those that 
are affronted by the Satyrs you may publish, will not 
consider so much who wrote as who printed: Take not 
this Freedom amiss from 

Your Friend and Reader, 

Celia Single. 
[Pennsylvania Gazette, 24 July, 1Y32.] 



LETTEE FEOM ALICE ADDEETONGUE 

Mr. Gazetteer, 

I was highly pleased with your last Week's Paper upon 
Scandal, as the uncommon Doctrine therein preach'd is 
agreeable both to my Principles and Practice, and as it 
was published very seasonably to reprove the Impertinence 
of a Writer in the foregoing Thursday's Mercury, who, 
at the Conclusion of one of his silly Paragraphs, laments 
forsooth, that the Fair Sex are so peculiarly guilty of 
this enormous Crime: Every Blockhead, ancient and 
modern, that could handle a Pen, has, I think, taken upon 
him to cant in the same senseless Strain. If to scandalize 
be really a Crime, what do these Puppies mean?^ They 
describe it, they dress it up in the most odious, frightful, 
and detestable Colours, they represent it as the worst 



50 BENJAMIIST FEANKLIN 

of Crimes, and then roundly and charitably charge the 
whole Eace of Womankind with it. Are not they then 
gnilty of what they condemn, at the same time that they 
condemn it? If they accuse us of any other Crime, they 
must necessarily scandalize while they do it; but to scan- 
dalize us with being guilty of Scandal, is in itself an 
egregious Absurdity, and can proceed from nothing but 
the most consummate Impudence in conjunction with the 
most profound Stupidity. 

This, supposing, as they do, that to scandalize is a 
Crime; which you have convinced all reasonable People is 
an Opinion absolutely erroneous. Let us leave, then, these 
Ideot Mock-Moralists, while I entertain you with some 
Account of my Life and Manners. 

I am a young Girl of about thirty-five, and live at 
present with my Mother. I have no Care upon my Head 
of getting a Living, and therefore find it my Duty, as 
well as Inclination, to exercise my Talent at Censure, for 
the Good of my Country-Folks. There was, I am told, 
a certain generous Emperor, who, if a Day had passed over 
his Head in which he had conferred no Benefit on any 
Man, used to say to his Friends, in Latin, Diem perdidi, 
that is, it seems, I have lost a Day. I believe I should 
make use of the same Expression, if it were possible for 
a Day to pass in which I had not, or miss'd, an Oppor- 
tunity to scandalize somebody: But, Thanks be praised, 
no such Misfortune has befel me these dozen Years. 

Yet, whatever Good I may do, I cannot pretend that I 
first entred into the Practice of this Virtue from a Prin- 
ciple of Publick Spirit; for I remember, that, when a 
Child, I had a violent Inclination to be ever talking in my 
own Praise; and being continually told that it was ill 
Manners, and once severely whipt for it, the confin'd 
Stream form'd itself a new Channel, and I began to speak 
for the future in the Dispraise of others. This I found 
more agreeable to Company, and almost as much so to 
myself: for what great Difference can there be, between 
putting yourself up, or putting your Neighbour down? 
Scandal, like other Virtues, is in part its own Eeward, 
as it gives us the Satisfaction of making ourselves appear 
better than others, or others no better than ourselves. 

My Mother, good Woman, and I, have heretofore differed 
upon this Account. She argu'd, that Scandal spoilt all 



LETTEE FEOM ALICE ADDEETONGUE 51 

good Conversation; and I insisted, that without it there 
would be no such Thing. Our Disputes once rose so high, 
that we parted Tea-Tables, and I concluded to entertain 
my Acquaintance in the Kitchin. The first Day of this 
Separation we both drank Tea at the same Time, but she 
with her Visitors in the Parlor. She would not hear of the 
least Objection to any one's Character, but began a new 
sort of Discourse in some such queer philosophical Man- 
ner as this; ^^I am mightily pleas'd sometimes,'' says she, 
^Vhen I observe and consider, that the World is not so 
bad as People out of humour imagine it to be. There is 
something amiable, some good Quality or other, in every 
body. If we were only to speak of People that are least 
respected, there is such a one is very dutiful to her Father, 
and methinks has a fine Set of Teeth; such a one is very 
respectful to her Husband; such a one is very kind to her 
poor Neighbours, and besides has a very handsome Shape; 
such a one is always ready to serve a Friend, and in my 
Opinion there is not a Woman in Town that has a more 
agreeable Air and Gait." This fine kind of Talk, which 
lasted near half an Hour, she concluded by saying, ''I do 
not doubt but every one of you have made the like Ob- 
servations, and I should be glad to have the Conversation 
continued upon this Subject." Just at that Juncture I 
peep'd in at the Door, and never in my Life before saw 
such a Set of simple vacant Countenances. They looked 
somehow neither glad, nor sorry, nor angry, nor pleas'd, 
nor indifferent, nor attentive; but (excuse the Simile) 
like so many blue wooden images of Eie Doe. I in the 
Kitchin had already begun a ridiculous Story of Mr. 

's Intrigue with his Maid, ^nd his Wife's Behaviour 

upon the Discovery ; at some Passages we laugh'd heartily, 
and one of the gravest of Mama's Company, without mak- 
ing any Answer to her Discourse, got up to go and see 
what the Gifts were so merry about: She was follow'd 
by a Second, and shortly after by a Third, till at last the 
old Gentlewoman found herself quite alone, and, being 
convinc'd that her Project was impracticable, came her- 
self and finish'd her Tea with us; ever since which Saul 
also has been among the Prophets, and our Disputes lie 
Dormant. 

By Industry and Application I have made myself the 
Centre of all the Scandal in the Province, there is little 



52 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

stirring, but I hear of it. I began the World with this 
Maxim, that no Trade can subsist without Returns; and 
accordingly, whenever I receiVd a good Story, I endeav- 
our'd to give two or a better in the Room of it. My 
Punctuality in this Way of Dealing gave such Encourage- 
ment, that it has procured me an incredible deal of Busi- 
ness, which without Diligence and good Method it would 
be impossible for me to go through. For, besides the 
Stock of Defamation thus naturally flowing in upon me, 
I practise an Art, by which I can pump Scandal out of 
People that are the least enclin'd that way. Shall I dis- 
cover my Secret? Yes; to let it die with me would be 
inhuman. If I have never heard 111 of some Person, I 
always impute it to defective Intelligence; for there are 
none without their Faults, no, not one. If she is a 
Woman, I take the first Opportunity to let all her Ac- 
quaintance know I have heard that one of the hand- 
somest or best Men in Town has said something in Praise 
either of her Beauty, her Wit, her Virtue, or her good 
Management, If you know anything of Humane Nature, 
you perceive that this naturally introduces a Conversa- 
tion turning upon all her Failings, past, present, and to 
come. To the same purpose, and with the same Success, 
I cause every Man of Reputation to be praised before 
his Competitors in Love, Business, or Esteem, on Account 
of any particular Qualification. Near the Times of Elec- 
tion, if I find it necessary, I commend every Candidate 
before some of the opposite Party, listening attentively 
to what is said of him in answer: (But Commendations 
in this latter Case are not always necessary, and should 
be used judiciously;) of late Years, I needed only observe 
what they said of one another freely; and having for the 
Help of Memory, taken Account of all Informations and 
Accusations received, whoever peruses my Writings after 
my Death, may happen to think, that during a certain 
Term the People of Pennsylvania chose into all their 
Offices of Honour and Trust, the veriest Knaves, Fools 
and Rascals in the whole Province. The Tiine of Election 
used to be a busy Time with me, but this Year, with Con- 
cern I speak it. People are grown so good-natur'd, so in- 
tent upon mutual Feasting and friendly Entertainment, 
that I see no Prospect of much Employment from that 
Quarter. 



LETTEK FEOM ALICE ADDERTONGUE 53 

I mention'd above, that without good Method I could 
not go thro' my Business. In my Father's Lifetime I had 
some Instruction in Accompts, which I now apply with 
Advantage to my own Affairs. I keep a regular Set of 
Books, and can tell, at an Hour's Warning, how it stands 
between me and the World. In my DayhooJc I enter 
every Article of Defamation as it is transacted; for 
Scandals received in 1 give Credit, and when I pay them 
out again I make the Persons to whom they respectively 
relate Debtor, In my Journal, I add to each Story, by 
way of Improvement, such probable Circumstances as I 
think it will bear; and in my Ledger the whole is regularly 
posted. 

I suppose the Reader already condemns me in his 
Heart for this particular of adding Circumstances ; but I 
justify that part of my Practice thus. 'Tis a Principle 
with me, that none ought to have a greater Share of Rep- 
utation, than they really deserve; if they have, 'tis an 
Imposition upon the Publick. I know it is every one's In- 
terest, and therefore believe they endeavour to conceal all 
their Vices and Follies; and I hold that those People are 
extraordinary foolish or careless, who suffer a Fourth of 
their Failings to come to publick Knowledge. Taking 
then the common Prudence and Imprudence of Mankind 
in a Lump, I suppose none suffer above one Fifth to be 
discovered: Therefore, when I hear of any person's Mis- 
doing, I think I keep within Bounds if in relating it I 
only make it three times worse than it is; and I reserve 
to myself the Privilege of charging them with one Fault 
in four, which for aught I know, they may be entirely 
innocent of. You see there are but few so careful of 
doing Justice as myself. What Reason then have Man- 
kind to complain of Scandal? In a general way the worst 
that is said of us is only half what might be said, if all 
our Faults were seen. 

But, alas ! two great Evils have lately bef aln me at the 
same time; an extream Cold, that I can scarce speak, and 
a most terrible Tooth-ach, that I dare hardly open my 
Mouth: For some Days past, I have receiv'd ten Stories 
for one I have paid; and I am not able to balance my 
Accounts without your Assistance. I have long thought, 
that if you would make your Paper a Vehicle of Scandal, 
you would double the Number of your Subscribers. I 



54 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

send you herewith Account of four Knavish Tricks, two 
* * ^, 5 cu-ld-ms, 3 drub'd Wives, and 4 henpecked Hus- 
bands, all within this Fortnight; which you may, as 
Articles of News, deliver to the Publick ; and, if my 
Tooth-ach continues, shall send you more, being in the 
mean time your constant Header, 

Alice Addertongue. 

I thank my Correspondent, Mrs. Addertongue, for her 
Good Will, but desire to be excused inserting the Articles 
of News she has sent me, such Things being in Reality 
no News at all. 

[Pennsylvania Gazette, 12 September, 1732.] 



A MEDITATION ON A QUART MUGG 

Wretched, miserable, and unhappy Mug! I pity thy 
luckless Lot, I commiserate thy Misfortunes, thy Griefs 
fill me with Compassion, and because of thee are Tears 
made frequently to burst from my Eyes. 

How often have I seen him compelled to hold up his 
Handle at the Bar, for no other Crime than that of being 
empty; then snatch'd away by a surly Officer, and plung'd 
suddenly into a Tub of cold Water: Sad Spectacle, and 
Emblem of human Penury, oppressed by arbitrary Power! 
How often is he hurry'd down into a dismal Vault, sent 
up fully laden in a cold Sweat, and by a rude Hand thrust 
into the Fire! How often have I seen it obliged to un- 
dergo the Indignities of a dirty Wench; to have melting 
Candles dropt on its naked Sides, and sometimes in its 
Mouth, to risque being broken into a thousand Pieces, for 
Actions which itself was not guilty of! How often is he 
forced into the Company of boisterous Sots, who lay all 
their Nonsence, Noise, profane Swearing, Cursing, and 
Quarreling, on the harmless Mug, which speaks not a 
Word ! They overset him, maim him, and sometimes turn 
him to Arms offensive or defensive, as they please; when 
of himself he would not be of either Party, but would 
as willingly stand still. Alas! what Power, or Place, is 
provided, where this poor Mug, this unpitied Slave, can 
have Redress of his Wrongs and Sufferings? Or where 
ehall he have a Word of Praise bestowed on him for his 



A MEDITATION ON A QTJAKT MUGG 55 

Well doings, and faithful Services ? If he prove of a large 
size, his Owner curses him, and says he will devour more 
than he'll earn: If his Size be small, those whom his 
Master appoints him to serve will curse him as much, 
and perhaps threaten him with the Inquisition of the 
Standard. Poor Mug, unfortunate is thy Condition! Of 
thy self thou wouldst do no Harm, but much Harm is 
done with thee ! Thou art accused of many Mischiefs ; 
thou art said to administer Drunkenness, Poison, and 
broken Heads : But none praise thee for the good Things 
thou yieldest ! Shouldst thou produce double Beer, nappy 
Ale, stallcop Cyder, or Cyder mulPd, fine Punch, o.r cor- 
dial Tiff; yet for all these shouldst thou not be prais'd, 
but the rich Liquors themselves, which tho' within thee, 
will be said to be foreign to thee! And yet, so unhappy 
is thy Destiny, thou must bear all their Faults and Abom- 
inations ! Hast thou been industriously serving thy Em- 
ployers with Tiff or Punch, and instantly they dispatch 
thee for Cyder, then must thou be abused for smelling of 
Eum. Hast thou been steaming their Noses gratefully, 
with mulFd Cyder or butter'd Ale, and then offerest to 
refresh their Palates with the best of Beer, they will curse 
thee for thy Greasiness. And how, alas! can thy Service 
be rendered more tolerable to thee? If thou submittest 
thyself to a Scouring in the Kitchen, what must thou 
undergo from sharp Sand, hot Ashes, and a coarse Dish- 
clout ; besides the Danger of having thy Lips rudely torn, 
thy Countenance disfigured, thy Arms dismantled, and 
thy whole Frame shattered, with violent Concussions in 
an Iron Pot or Brass Kettle ! And yet, O Mug ! if these 
Dangers thou escapest, with little Injury, thou must at 
last untimely fall, be broken to Pieces, and cast away, 
never more to be recollected and form'd into a Quart 
Mug. Whether by the Fire, or in a Battle, or choak'd 
with a Dishclout, or by a Stroke against a Stone, thy 
Dissolution happens; 'tis all alike to thy avaritious 
Owner; he grieves not for thee, but for the Shilling with 
which he purchased thee! If thy Bottom Part should 
chance to survive, it may be preserved to hold bits of 
Candles, or Blacking for Shoes, or Salve for kibed Heels; 
but all thy other ]\Iembers will be for ever buried in 
some miry Hole; or less carefully disposed of, so that 
little Children, who have not yet arrived to Acts of Cru- 



56 BENJAMIN FEANEXIN 

elty, may gather them up to furnish out their Baby 
Houses: Or, being cast upon the Dunghill, they will 
therewith be carted into Meadow Grounds; where, being 
spread abroad and discovered, they must be thrown to 
the Heap of Stones, Bones and Bubbish; or being left 
until the Mower finds them with his Scythe, they will 
with bitter Curses be tossed over the Hedge; and so serve 
for unlucky Boys to throw at Birds and Dogs; until by 
Length of Time and numerous Casualties, they shall be 
pressed into their Mother Earth, and be converted to 
their original Principles. 

[P ennsylvania Gazette, 19 July, 1733.] 



A TRUE PROGNOSTICATION, FOR 1739 

Courteous Readers, 

Having considered the infinite Abuses arising from 
the false Prognostications published among you, made 
under the shadow of a Pot of Drink, or so, I haVe here 
calculated one of the most sure and unerring that ever 
was seen in black and white, as hereafter you'll find. For 
doubtless it is a heinous, foul and crying Sin, to deceive 
the poor gaping World, greedy of the Knowledge of Fu- 
turity, as we Americans all are. Take Notice by the 
by, that having been at a great deal of pains in the Cal- 
culation, if you don't believe every Syllable, Jot and 
Tittle of it, you do me a great deal of wrong; for which 
either here or elsewhere, you may chance to be claw'd 
off with a Vengeance. A good Cowskin, Crabtree or 
Bull's pizzle may be plentifully bestow'd on your outward 
Man. You may snuff up your Noses as much as you 
please, 'tis all one for that. 

Well however, come, suite your Noses my little Chil- 
dren; and you old doating Father Grey-Beards, pull out 
your best Eyes, on wi' your Barnacles, and carefully ob- 
serve every Scruple of what I'm going to tell you. 

OF THE GOLDEN NUMBER 

The Golden Number, non est inventus, I cannot find it 
this Year by any Calculation I have made. I must con- 
tent myself with a Number of Copper. No matter, go on. 



A TETJE PEOGNOSTIOATION, FOE 1739 57 



Of the Eclipses this Year 

There are so many invisible Eclipses this Year, that I 
fear, not unjustly, our Pockets will suffer Inanition, be 
full empty, and our Eeeling at a Loss. During the first 
visible Eclipse Saturn is retrograde: For which Eeason 
the Crabs will go sidelong, and the Eopemakers back- 
ward. The Belly will wag before, and the A — shall sit 
down first. Mercury will have his share in these Affairs, 
and so confound the Speech of People, that when a Pensil- 
vanian would say Panther he shall say Painter. When 
a New Yorker thinks to. say (This) he shall say (Diss) 
and the people in New England and Cape May will not be 
able to say (Cow) for their Lives, but will be forc'd to 
say (Keow) by a certain involuntary Twist in the Eoot 
of their Tongues. No Connecticut man nor Marylander 
will be able to open his Mouth this Year but (Sir) shall 
be the first or last Syllable he pronounces, and sometimes 
both. Brutes shall speak in many Places, and there will 
be above seven and twenty irregular Verbs made this Year, 
if Grammar don't interpose. — Who can help these Mis- 
fortunes ! 

Of the Diseases This Year 

This Year the Stone-blind shall see but very little; the 
Deaf shall hear but poorly; and the Dumb sha'nt speak 
very plain. And it's much, if my Dame Bridget talks at 
all this Year. 

Whole Flocks, Herds, and Droves of Sheep, Swine and 
Oxen, Cocks and Hens, Ducks and Drakes, Geese and 
Ganders shall go to Pot; but the Mortality will not be 
altogether so great among Cats, Dogs, and Horses. As 
for old Age, 'twill be incurable this Year, because of the 
Years past. And towards the Fall some People will be 
seiz'd with an unaccountable Inclination to roast and eat 
their own Ears : Should thfs be call'd Madness, Doctors ? 
I think not. But the worst Disease of all will be a cer- 
tain most horrid, dreadful, malignant, catching, perverse 
and odious Malady, almost epidemical, insomuch that 
many shall run mad upon it ; I quake for very Fear when 
I think on't: for I assure you very few will escape this 



58 BENJAMIN" FKANKLIN 

Disease, whicli is called by tlie learned Albumazar LacTco'' 
mony. 

Of the Fruits of the Earth 

I find that this will be a plentiful Year of all manner 
of good Things, to those who have enough; but the 
Orange Trees in Greenland, will go near to fare the worse 
for the Cold. As for Oats, they'll be a great Help to 
Horses. I dare say there won't be much more Bacon than 
Swine. Mercury somewhat threatens our Parsley-beds, yet 
Parsly will be to be had for Money. Hemp will grow 
faster than the Children of this Age, and some will find 
there's but too much on't. As for Corn, Fruit, Cyder and 
Turnips, there never was such Plenty as will be now; 
if poor Folks may have their Wish. 

Of the Condition of some Countries 

I foresee an universal Droughth this Year thro' all the 
Northern Colonies. Hence there will be dry Rice in Caro- 
lina, dry Tobacco in Virginia and Maryland, dry Bread 
in Pennsylvania and New York; and in New England 
dry Fish and dry Doctrine. Dry Throats there will be 
everywhere; but then how pleasant it will be to drink cool 
Cyder! tho' some will tell you nothing is more contrary 
to Thirst. I believe it; and indeed, Contraria contrariis 
curantur. R. Saunders. 

[Poor Richard, 1739.] 



SHAVERS AND TRIMMERS 

Alexander Miller, Peruke-maker, in Second-street, 
Philadelphia, takes Opportunity to acquaint his Custom- 
ers, that he intends to leave ofi the Shaving Business after 
the 22d of August next. 

To Mr. Franklin, 
Sir, 

It is a common Observation among the People of Great 
Britain and Ireland, that the Barbers are reverenced by 
the lower Classes of the Inhabitants of those Kingdoms, 



SHAVEKS AND TEIMMEES 69 

and in the more remote Parts of those Dominions, as the 
sole Oracles of Wisdom and Politicks. This at first View 
seems to be owing to the odd Bent of Mind and peculiar 
Humour of the People of those Nations : But if we carry 
this Observation into other Parts, we shall find the same 
Passion equally prevalent throughout the whole civilized 
World ; and discover in every little Market-Town and Vil- 
lage the 'Squire, the Exciseman, and even the Parson him- 
self, listening with as much Attention to a Barber's News, 
as they would to the profound Pevelations of a Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer, or principal Secretary of State. 
Antiquity likewise will furnish us with many Con- 
firmations of the Truth of what I have here asserted. 
Among the old Romans the Barbers were understood to 
be exactly of the same Complection I have hear described. 
I shall not trouble your Readers with a Multitude of 
Examples taken from Antiquity. I shall only quote one 
Passage in Horace, which may serve to illustrate the 
Whole, and is as follows 

StrenuTis et fortis, causisq; Philippus agendis 
Clarus, ab officiis octavam circiter horam 
Dum redit: atq; foro nimium distare carinas 
Jam grandis natu queritur, conspexit, ut aiunt, 
Adrasum quendam vacua tonsoris in umbra. 
Cultello proprios purgantem leniter ungues. 

Hor. Epist. Lib. 1. 7. 

By which we may understand, that the Tonsoris Urrihra, or 
Barber's Shop, was the common Rendezvous of every idle 
Fellow, who had no more to do than to pair his Nails, talk 
Politicks, and see, and to be seen. 

But to return to the Point in Question. If we would 
know why the Barbers are so eminent for their Skill in 
Politicks, it will be necessary to lay aside the Appellation 
of Barber, and confine ourselves to that of Shaver and 
Trimmer, which will naturally lead us to consider the 
near Relation which subsists between Shaving, Trimming 
and Politicks, from whence we shall discover that Shaving 
and Trimming is not the Province of the Mechanic alone, 
but that there are their several Shavers and Trimmers at 
Court, the Bar, in Church and State. 

And first. Shaving or Trimming, in a strict mechanical 
Sense of the Word, signifies a cutting, sheering, lopping 



60 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

off, and fleecing us of those Excrescencies of Hair, Nails, 
Flesh, &c., which burthen and disguise our natural En- 
dowments. And is not the same practised over the whole 
World, by Men of every Rank and Station? Does not 
the corrupt Minister lop off our Privileges and fleece us 
of our Money? Do not the Gentlemen of the long Kobe 
find means to cut off those Excrescencies of the Nation, 
Highwaymen, Thieves and Kobbers? And to look into 
the Church, who has been more notorious for shaving and 
fleecing, than that Apostle of Apostles, that Preacher of 
Preachers, the Pev. Mr. G. W. ? But I forbear making 
farther mention of this spiritual Shaver and Trimmer, 
lest I should affect the Minds of my Readers as deeply as 
his Preaching has affected their Pockets. 

The second Species of Shavers and Trimmers are those 
who, according to the English Phrase, maJce the test of a 
had Market: Such as cover (what is called by an eminent 
Preacher) their poor Dust in tinsel Cloaths and gaudy 
Plumes of Feathers. A Star, and Garter, for Instance, 
adds Grace, Dignity and Lustre to a gross corpulent 
Body; and a competent Share of religious Horror thrown 
into the Countenance, with proper Distortions of the 
Face, and the Addition of a lank Head of Hair, or a long 
Wig and Band, commands a most profound Respect to 
Insolence and Ignorance. The Pageantry of the Church 
of Rome is too well known for me to instance: It will 
not however be amiss to observe, that his Holiness the 
Pope, when he has a Mind to fleece his Flock of a good 
round Sum, sets off the Matter with Briefs, Pardons, In- 
dulgencies, &c. &;c. &c. 

The Third and last Kind of Shavers and Trimmers are 
those who (in Scripture Language) are carried away with 
every Wind of Doctrine. The Yicars of Bray, and those 
who exchange their Principles with the Times, may justly 
be referred to this Class. But the most odious Shavers 
and Trimmers of this Kind, are a certain set of Females, 
called (by the polite World) Jilts. I cannot give my 
Readers a more perfect Idea of these than by quoting the 
following Lines of the Poet: 

Fatally fair they are, and in their Smiles 

The Graces, little Loves, and young Desires inhabit: 

But they are false luxurious in their Appetites, 



SHAVEES AND TEIMMEKS 61 

And all the Heav'n they hope for, is Variety. 

One Lover to another still succeeds. 

Another and another after that, 

And the last Fool is welcome as the former; 

'Till having lov'd his Hour out, he gives his Place, 

And mingles with the Herd that went before him. 

Rowe's Fair Penitent, 

Lastly, I cannot but congratulate my Neighbours on the 
little Favour which is shown to Shavers and Trimmers by 
the People of this Province. The Business is at so low 
an Ebb, that the worthy Gentleman whose Advertisement 
I have chosen for the Motto of my Paper, acquaints us 
he will leave it off after the 22d of August next. I am of 
Opinion that all possible Encouragement ought to be given 
to Examples of this Kind, since it is owing to this that 
so perfect an Understanding is cultivated among our- 
selves, and the Chain of Friendship is brightened and 
perpetuated with our good Allies, the Indians, The An- 
tipathy which these sage Naturalists bear to Shaving and 
Trimming, is well known. 

/ am. Yours, &c. 
\_Pennsylvania Gazette, 23 June, 1743.] 

TO THE PUBLICK 

* * * Causis Philippus agendis 
Clarus, * * * 

S. P. D. 

My Paper on Shavers and Trimmers, in the last Gazette, 
being generally condemned, I at first imputed it to the 
Want of Taste and Kelish for Pieces of that Force and 
Beauty, which none but University-bred Gentlemen can 
produce: But upon Advice of Friends, whose Judgment 
I could depend on, I examined myself and to my Shame 
must confess, that I found myself to be an uncircumcised 
Jew, whose Excrescencies of Hair, Nails, Flesh, &c. did 
burthen and disguise my Natural Endowments; but hav- 
ing my Hair and Nails since lopp'd off and shorn, and 
my fleshly Excrescencies circumcised, I now appear in 
my wonted Lustre, and expect a speedy Admission among 
the Levites, which I have already the Honour of among 
the Poets and Natural Philosophers. I have one Thing 



62 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

more to add, whicli is, That I liad no real Animosity 
against the Person whose Advertisement I made the Motto 
of my Paper; but (as may appear to all who have been 
Big with Pieces of this Kind) what I had long on my 
Mind, I at last unburden'd myseK of. O ! these jilts still 
run in my Mind. 

N.B. The Publick perhaps may suppose this Confes- 
sion forced upon me ; but if they repair to the P — Pe in 
Second-street, they may see Me, or the Original hereof 
under my own Hand, and be convinced that this is 
genuine. 

[Pennsylvania Gazette, 30 June, 1743.] 



TO JOHN FEANKLIN, AT BOSTON 

Philadelphia, [March 10,] 1745. 

— Our people are extremely impatient to hear of your 
success at Cape Breton. My shop is filled with thirty in- 
quirers at the coming in of every post. Some wonder the 
place is not yet taken. I tell them I shall be glad to 
hear that news three months hence. Fortified towns are 
hard nuts to crack; and your teeth have not been accus- 
tomed to it. Taking strong places is a particular trade, 
which you have taken up without serving an apprentice- 
ship to it. Armies and veterans need skilful engineers 
to direct them in their attack. Have you any? But 
some seem to think forts are as easy taken as snufP. 
Father Moody's prayers look tolerably modest. You have 
a fast and prayer day for that purpose; in which I com- 
pute five hundred thousand petitions were offered up to 
the same effect in New England, which added to the peti- 
tions of every family morning and evening, multiplied by 
the number of days since January 25th, make forty-five 
millions of prayers; which, set against the prayers of a 
few priests in the garrison, to the Virgin Mary, give a 
vast balance in your favour. 

If you do not succeed, I fear I shall have but an indif- 
ferent opinion of Presbyterian prayers in such cases, as 
long as I live. Indeed, in attacking strong towns I 
should have more dependence on works, than on faith; 
for, like the kingdom of heaven, they are to be taken by 



ADVICE TO A YOUNG TEADESMAN 63 

iforce and violence; and in a Erench. garrison I suppose 
there are devils of that tind, that they are not to be cast 
out by prayers and fasting, unless it be by their own fast- 
ing for want of provisions. I believe there is Scripture 
in what I have wrote, but I cannot adorn the margin with 
quotations, having a bad memory, and no Concordance at 
hand; besides no more time than to subscribe myself, &c. 

B. Franklin. 



ADVICE TO A YOUNG TEADESMAN 

To my Friend, A, B.: 

As you have desired it of me, I write the following 
hints, which have been of service to me, and may, if ob- 
served, be so to you. 

Eemember, that time is money. He that can earn ten 
shillings a day by his labour, and goes abroad, or sits idle, 
one half of that day, though he spends but sixpence during 
his diversion or idleness, ought not to reckon that the only 
expense; he has really spent, or rather thrown away, five 
shillings besides. 

Eemember, that credit is money. If a man lets his 
money lie in my hands after it is due, he gives me the 
interest, or so much as I can make of it during that time. 
This amounts to a considerable sum where a man has 
good and large credit, and makes good use of it. 

Eemember, that money is of the prolific, generating 
nature. Money can beget money, and its offspring can 
beget more, and so on. Five shillings turned is six, turned 
again it is seven and three-pence, and so on till it be- 
comes an hundred pounds. The more there is of it, the 
more it produces every turning, so that the profits rise 
quicker and quicker. He that kills a breeding sow, de- 
stroys all her offspring to the thousandth generation. He 
that murders a crown, destroys all that it might have pro- 
duced, even scores of pounds. 

Eemember, that six pounds a year is but a groat a day. 
For this little sum (which may be daily wasted either in 
time or expense unperceived) a man of credit may, on his 
own security, have the constant possession and use of an 
hundred pounds. So mucli in stock, briskly turned by an 
industrious man, produces great advantage. 



64 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

Remember this saying, The good paymaster is lord of 
another mans purse. He that is known to pay punctually 
and exactly to the time he promises, may at any time, and 
on any occasion, raise all the money his friends can spare. 
This is sometimes of great use. After industry and fru- 
gality, nothing contributes more to the raising of a young 
man in the world than punctuality and justice in all his 
dealings; therefore never keep borrowed money an hour 
beyond the time you promised, lest a disappointment shut 
up your friend's purse for ever. 

The most trifling actions that affect a man's credit are 
to be regarded. The sound of your hammer at ^ye in the 
morning, or nine at night, heard by a creditor, makes him 
easy six months longer; but, if he sees you at a billiard- 
table, or hears your voice at a tavern, when you should 
be at work, he sends for his money the next day ; demands 
it, before he can receive it, in a lump. 

It shows, besides, that you are mindful of what you 
owe; it makes you appear a careful as well as an honest 
man, and that still increases your credit. 

Beware of thinking all your own that you possess, and 
of living accordingly. It is a mistake that many people 
who have credit fall into. To prevent this, keep an exact 
account for some time, both of your expenses and your in- 
come. If you take the pains at first to mention particu- 
lars, it will have this good effect: you will discover how 
wonderfully small, trifling expenses mount up to large 
sums, and will discern what might have been, and may 
for the future be saved, without occasioning any great 
inconvenience. 

In short, the way to wealth, if you desire it, is as plain 
as the way to market. It depends chiefly on two words, 
industry and frugality; that is, waste neither time nor 
money, but make the best use of both. Without industry 
and frugality nothing will do, and with them every thing. 
He that gets all he can honestly, and saves all he gets 
(necessary expenses excepted), will certainly become rich, 
if that Being who governs the world, to whom all should 
look for a blessing on their honest endeavours, doth not, 
in his wise providence, otherwise determine. 

An Old Tradesman. 

[1748] 



EXPOETING OF FELONS TO THE COLONIES 65 

EXPOETING OF FELONS TO THE COLONIES 
To THE Printers of the Gazette 

By a Passage in one of your late Papers, I understand 
that the Government at home will not suffer our mistaken 
Assemblies to make any Law for preventing or discour- 
aging the Importation of Convicts from Great Britain, for 
this kind Eeason, 'That such Laws are against the Publich 
Utility, as they tend to prevent the Improvement and 
Well Peopling of the Colonies/ 

Such a tender parental Concern in our Mother Country 
for the Welfare of her Children, calls aloud for the highest 
Returns of Gratitude and Duty. This every one must be 
sensible of: But 'tis said, that in our present Circum- 
stances it is absolutely impossible for us to make such as 
are adequate to the Favour. I own it; but nevertheless 
let us do our Endeavour. 'Tis something to show a grate- 
ful Disposition. 

In some of the uninhabited Parts of these Provinces, 
there are Numbers of these venomous Eeptiles we call 
Eattle-Snakes; Felons-convict from the Beginning of 
the World : These, whenever we meet with them, we put to 
Death, by Virtue of an old Law, Thou shalt hruise hi^ 
Head. But as this is a sanguinary Law, and may seem 
too cruel ; and as however mischievous those Creatures are 
with us, they may possibly change their Natures, if they 
were to change the Climate ; I would humbly propose, that 
this general Sentence of Death be changed for Transporta- 
tion. 

In the Spring of the Year, when they first creep out of 
their Holes, they are feeble, heavy, slow, and easily taken ; 
and if a small Bounty were allow'd per Head, some Thou- 
sands might be collected annually, and transported to 
Britain. There I would propose to have them carefully 
distributed in ;S^^. James's Park, in the Spring -Gardens 
and other Places of Pleasure about London; in the Gar- 
dens of all the Nobility and Gentry throughout the Na- 
tion; but particularly in the Gardens of the Prime Minis- 
ters, the Lords of Trade and Members of Parliament; for 
to them we are most particularly obliged. 

There is no human Scheme so perfect, but some Incon- 



eQ BENJAMIN FKANEXIN 

veniencies may be objected to it: Yet when the Conven- 
iencies far exceed, the Scheme is judg'd rational, and fit to 
be executed. Thus Inconveniencies have been objected to 
that good and wise Act of Parliament, by virtue of which 
all the Newgates and Dungeons in Britain are emptied 
into the Colonies. It has been said, that these Thieves and 
Villains introduc'd among us, spoil the Morals of Youth 
in the Neighbourhoods that entertain them, and perpetrate 
many horrid Crimes : But let not private Interests ob- 
struct puhlich Utility. Our Mother knows what is best for 
us. What is a little Househreahing , Shoplifting , or High- 
way Rohhing; what is a Son now and then corrupted and 
hang'd, a Daughter dehaucKd and pox'd, a Wife stdhVd, a 
Husband's Throat cut, or a Child's Brains heat out with 
an Axe, compared with this ^Improvement and well 
Peopling of the Colonies!' 

Thus it may perhaps be objected to my Scheme, that the 
Rattle-SnaJce is a mischievous Creature, and that his 
changing his Nature with the Clime is a mere Supposi- 
tion, not yet confirmed by sufficient Facts. What then? 
Is not Example more prevalent than Precept? And may 
not the honest rough British Gentry, by a Familiarity with 
these Keptiles, learn to creep, and to insinuate, and to 
slaver, and to wriggle into Place (and perhaps to poison 
snch as stand in their Way) Qualities of no small Advan- 
tage to Courtiers ! In comparison of which ^Improvement 
and PuBLiCK Utility,' what is a Child now and then kill'd 
by their venomous Bite, ... or even a favourite Lap 
Dog? 

I would only add, that this exporting of Felons to the 
Colonies, may be consider'd as a Trade, as well as in the 
Light of a Favour, Now all Commerce implies Returns: 
Justice requires them: There can be no Trade without 
them. And Rattle-SnaTces seem the most suitable Returns 
for the Human Serpents sent us by our Mother Country. 
In this, however, as in every other Branch of Trade, she 
will have the Advantage of us. She will reap equal Bene- 
fits without equal Bisque of the Inconveniencies and Dan- 
gers. For the Rattle-Snake gives Warning before he at- 
tempts his Mischief ; which the Convict does not. I am 

Yours, &c. 

Americanus. 
[Pennsylvania Gazette, 9 May, 1751.] 



THE WAY TO WEALTH 67 



THE WAY TO WEALTH 

Courteous 'Header, 

I have heard that nothing gives an Author so great 
Pleasure, as to find his Works respectfully quoted by other 
learned Authors. This Pleasure I have seldom enjoyed; 
for tho' I have been, if I may say it without Vanity, an 
eminent Author of Almanacks annually now a full Quar- 
ter of a Century, my Brother Authors in the same Way, 
for what Peason I know not, have ever been very sparing 
in their Applauses, and no other Author has taken the 
least Notice of me, so that did not my Writings produce 
me some solid Pudding, the great Deficiency of Praise 
would have quite discouraged me. 

I concluded at length, that the People were the best 
Judges of my merit ; for they buy my Works ; and besides, 
in my Parables, where I am not personally known, I have 
frequently heard one or other of my Adages repeated, with, 
as Poor Richard says, at the End on H ; this gave me some 
Satisfaction, as it showed not only that my Instructions 
were regarded, but discovered likewise some Pespect for 
my Authority; and I own, that to encourage the Practice 
of remembering and repeating those wise Sentences, I 
have sometimes quoted myself with great Gravity. 

Judge, then how much I must have been gratified by an 
Incident I am going to relate to you. I stopt my Horse 
lately where a great Number of People were collected at a 
Vendue of Merchant Goods. The Hour of Sale not being 
come, they were conversing on the Badness of the Times 
and one of the Company call'd to a plain clean old Man, 
with white Locks, "Pray, Father Abraham, what think you 
of the Times? Won't these heavy Taxes quite ruin the 
Country ? How shall we be ever able to pay them ? What 
would you advise us to?" Father Abraham stood up, and 
reply'd, "If you'd have my Advice, I'll give it you in short, 
for A Word to the Wise is enough, and many Words wont 
■fill a Bushel, as Poor Richard says." They join'd in desir- 
ing him to speak his Mind, and gathering round him, he 
proceeded as follows; 

^Triends," says he, and Neighbours, "the Taxes are in- 
deed very heavy, and if those laid on by the Government 



68 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

were the only Ones we had to pay, we might more easily 
discharge them ; but we have many others, and much more 
grievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by 
our Idleness, three times as much by our Pride, and four 
times as much by our Folly; and from these Taxes the 
Commissioners cannot ease or deliver us by allowing an 
Abatement. However let us hearken to good Advice, and 
something may be done for us; God helps them that help 
themselves, as Poor Richard says, in his Almanack of 1733. 

It would be thought a hard Government that should tax 
its People one-tenth Part of their Time, to be employed in 
its Service. But Idleness taxes many of us much more, if 
.we reckon all that is spent in absolute Sloth, or doing of 
nothing, with that which is spent in idle Employments or 
Amusements, that amount to nothing. Sloth, by bringing 
on Diseases, absolutely shortens Life. Sloth, like Rust, 
consumes faster than Labour wears; while the used Key is 
always hright, as Poor Richard says. But dost thou love 
Life, then do not squander Time; for that's the stuff Life 
is made of, as Poor Richard says. How much more than 
is necessary do we spend in sleep, forgetting that The 
Sleeping Fox catches no Poultry, and that There will he 
sleeping enough in the Grave, as Poor Richard says. 

// Time he of all Things the most precious, wasting 
Time must he, as Poor Richard says, the greatest Prodigal- 
ity; since, as he elsewhere tells us. Lost Time is never 
found again; and what we call Time enough, always 
proves little enough: Let us then up and be doing, and 
doing to the Purpose; so by Diligence shall we do more 
with less Perplexity. Sloth makes all Things difficult, hut 
Industry all easy, as Poor Richard says ; and He that ris- 
eth late must trot all Day, and shall scarce overtake his 
Business at Night; while Laziness travels so slowly, that 
Pov.erty soon overtakes him, as we read in Poor Richard, 
who adds. Drive thy Business, let not that drive thee; and 
Early to Bed, and early to rise, makes a Man healthy, 
wealthy, and wise. 

So what signifies wishing and hoping for better Times. 
We may make these Times better, if we bestir ourselves. 
Industry need not wish, as Poor Richard says, and he that 
lives upon Hope will die fasting. There are no Gains with- 
out Pains; then Help Hands, for I have no Lands, or if I 
have, they are smartly taxed. And, as Poor Richard like- 



THE WAY TO WEALTH 69 

wise observes, He that hath a Trade hath an Estate; and 
he that hath a Calling, hath an Office of Profit and Hon- 
our; but then the Trade must be worked at, and the Call- 
ing well followed, or neither the Estate nor the Office will 
enable us to pay our Taxes. If we are industrious, we shall 
never starve; for, as Poor Richard says. At the working 
Mans House Hunger looks in, hut dares not enter. Nor 
will the Bailiff or the Constable enter, for Industry pays 
Debts, while Despair encreaseth them, says Poor Richard, 
What though you have found no Treasure, nor has any 
rich Relation left you a Legacy, Diligence is the Mother of 
Goodluch as Poor Richard says and God gives all Things 
to Industry, Then plough deep, while Sluggards sleep, 
and you shall have Corn to sell and to keep, says Poor 
Dick, Work while it is called To-day, for you know not 
how much you may be hindered To-morrow, which makes 
Poor Richard say. One to-day is worth two To-morrows, 
and farther. Have you somewhat to do To-morrow, do it 
To-day. If you were a Servant, would you not be ashamed 
that a good Master should catch you idle? Are you then 
your own Master, he ashamed to catch yourself idle, as 
Poor Dick says. When there is so much to be done for 
yourself, your Family, your Country, and your gracious 
King, be up by Peep of Day; Let not the Sun look down 
and say. Inglorious here he lies. Handle your tools with- 
out Mittens; remember that The Cat in Gloves catches no 
Mice, as Poor Richard says. 'Tis true there is much to be 
done, and perhaps you are weak-handed, but stick to it 
steadily; and you will see ^reat Effects, for Constant 
Dropping wears away Stones, and by Diligence and Pa- 
tience the Mouse ate in two the Cable; and Little Strokes 
fell great Oaks, as Poor Richard says in his Almanack, the 
Year I cannot just now remember. 

Methinks I hear some of you say, Must a Man afford 
himself no Leisure? I will tell thee, my friend, what Poor 
Richard says. Employ thy Time well, if thou meanest to 
gain Leisure; and, since thou art not sure of a Minute, 
throw no't away an Hour. Leisure, is Time for doing 
something useful; this Leisure the diligent Man will obtain, 
but the lazy Man never; so that, as Poor Richard says, 
A Life of Leisure and a Life of Laziness are two Things. 
Do you imagine that Sloth will afford you more Comfort 
than Labour? No, for as Poor Richard says. Trouble 



70 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

springs from Idleness, and grievous Toil from needless 
Ease, 'Many without Lahour, would live hy their Wits 
only, hut they hreaJc for want of Stock. Whereas Industry 
gives Comfort, and Plenty, and Respect: Fly Pleasures, 
and they'll follow you. The diligent Spinner has a large 
Shift; and now I have a Sheep and a Cow, everybody hids 
me good Morrow; all which is well said by Poor Richard. 
But with our Industry, we must likewise be steady, set- 
tled, and careful, and oversee our own Affairs with our 
own Eyes, and not trust too much to others; for, as Poor 
Richard says 

/ never saw an oft-removed Tree, 

Nor yet an oft-removed Family, 

That throve so well as those that settled he. 

And again, Three Removes is as had as a Fire; and again. 
Keep thy Shop, and thy Shop will keep thee; and again. 
If you would have your Business done, go; if not, send. 
And again. 

He tluit by the Plough would thrive. 
Himself must either hold or drive. 

And again. The Eye of a Master will do more Worh than 
hoth his Hands; and again. Want of Care does us more 
Damage than Want of Knowledge; and again. Not to over- 
see Workmen, is to leave them your Purse open. Trusting 
too much to others' Care is the Buin of many; for, as the 
Almanack says, In the Affairs of this World, Men are 
saved, not hy Faith, hut hy the Want of it; but a Man's 
own Care is profitable; for, saith Poor Dick, Learning is 
to the Studious, and Riches to the Careful, as well as 
Power to the Bold, and Heaven to the Virtuous, And far- 
ther, // you would have a faithful Servant, and one that 
you like, serve yourself. And again, he adviseth to Cir- 
cumspection and Care, even in the smallest Matters, be- 
cause sometimes A little Neglect may hreed great Mis- 
chief; adding, for want of a Nail the Shoe was lost; for 
want of a Shoe the Horse was lost; and for want of a 
Horse the Rider was lost, heing overtaken and slain hy the 
Enemy; all for want of Care ahout a Horse-shoe Nail. 
So much for Industry, my Friends, and Attention to 



THE WAY TO WEALTH 71 

one's own Business; but to these we must add Frugality, 
if we would make our Industry more certainly successful. 
A Man may, if he knows not how to save as he gets, heep 
his Nose all his Life to the Grindstone, and die not worth 
a Groat at last, A fat Kitchen makes a lean Will, as Poor 
Richard says; and 

Many "Estates are spent in the Getting, 

Since W Dim en for Tea forsook Spinning and Knitting, 

And Men for Punch forsook Hewing and Splitting, 

If you would he wealthy, says he, in another Almanack, 
thinh of Saving as well as of Getting: The Indies have 
not made Spain rich, because her Outgoes are greater than 
her Incomes, 

Away then with your expensive Follies, and you will not 
then have so much Cause to complain of hard Times, 
heavy Taxes, and chargeable Families; for, as Poor Dich 
says, 

Women and Wine, Game and Deceit, 

Make the Wealth smiall and the Wants great. 

And farther. What maintains one Vice, would hring up 
two Children, You may think perhaps, that a little Tea, 
or a little Punch now and then, Diet a little more costly, 
Clothes a little finer, and a little Entertainment now and 
theii, can be no great Matter; but remember what Poor 
Richard says, Many a Little makes a MicMe; and farther. 
Beware of little Expences; A small Leak will sink a great 
Ship; and again. Who Dainties love, shall Beggars prove; 
and moreover. Fools make Feasts, and wise Men eat them. 
, Here you are all got together at this Vendue of Fineries 
and Knicknacks, You call them Goods; but if you do not 
take Care, they will prove Evils to some of you. You ex- 
pect they will be sold cheap, and perhaps they may for less 
than they cost ; but if you have no Occasion for them, they 
must be dear to you. Remember what Poor Richard says ; 
Buy what thou hast no Need of, and ere long thou shall sell 
thy Necessaries. And again, At a great Pennyworth pause 
a while : He means, that perhaps the Cheapness is appar^ 
ent only, and not Real; or the bargain, by straitening thee 
in thy Business, may do thee more Harm than Good. For 



12 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

in another Place he says, Many have heen ruined hy "buy- 
ing good Pennyworths, Again, Poor Richard says, 'tis 
foolish to lay out Money in a Purchase of Repentance; 
and yet this Folly is practised every Day at Vendues, for 
want of minding" the Almanack. Wise Men, as Poor Dich 
says, learn hy others Harms, Fools scarcely hy their own; 
but felix quern faciunt aliena pericula cautum. Many a 
one, for the Sake of Finery on the Back, have gone with a 
hungry Belly, and half-starved their Families. Silks and 
Sattins, Scarlet and Velvets, as Poor Richard says, put out 
the Kitchen Fire. 

These are not the Necessaries of Life; they can scarcely 
be called the Conveniences; and yet only because they look 
pretty, how many want to Kave them! The artificial 
Wants of Mankind thus become more numerous than the 
Natural; and, as Poor Dich says, for one poor Person, 
there are an hundred indigent. By these, and other Ex- 
travagancies, the Genteel are reduced to poverty, and 
forced to borrow of those whom they formerly despised, 
but who through Industry and Frugality have maintained 
their Standing; in which Case it appears plainly, that A 
Ploughman on his Legs is higher than a Gentleman on his 
Knees, as Poor Richard says. Perhaps they have had a 
small Estate left them, which they knew not the Getting 
of; they think, 'tis Day, and will never he Night; that a 
little to be spent out of so much, is not worth minding; a 
Child and a Fool, as Poor Richard says, imagine Twenty 
shillings and Twenty Years can never he spent but, always 
taking out of the Meal-tub, and never putting in, soon 
comes to the Bottom; as Poor Dick says. When the WelVs 
dry, they know the Worth of Water, But this they might 
have known before, IT they had taken his Advice; // you 
would know the Value of Money, go and try to borrow 
some; for, he that goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing ; and 
indeed so does he that lends to such People, when he goes 
to get it in again. Poor Dick farther advises, and says. 

Fond Pride of Dress is sure a very Curse j 
E'er Fancy you consult^ consult your Purse. • 

And again, Pride is as loud a Beggar as Want, and a great 
deal more saucy. When you have bought one fine Thing, 
you must buy ten more, that your Appearance may be all 



THE WAY TO WEALTH 73 

of a Piece ; but Poor DicJc says, 'Tis easier to suppress the 
first Desire, than to satisfy all that follow it. And 'tis as 
truly Folly for the Poor to ape the Kich, as for the Frog to 
swell, in order to equal the ox. 

Great Estates may venture more, 

But little Boats should keep near Shore. 

'Tis, however, a Folly soon punished; for Pride that dines 
on Vanity, sups on Contempt, as Poor Richard says. And 
in another Place, Pride hreahfasted with Plenty, dined 
with Poverty, and supped with Infamy. And after all, of 
what Use is this Pride of Appearance, for which so much 
is risked so much is suffered ? It cannot promote Health, 
or ease Pain; it makes no Increase of Merit in the Person, 
it creates Envy, it hastens Misfortune. 

What is a Butterfly? At test 

He's hut a Caterpillar drest 

The gaudy Fop's his Picture just, 

as Poor Richard says. 

But what Madness must it be to run in Deht for these 
Superfluities ! We are offered, by the Terms of this Yen- 
due, Six Months' Credit; and that perhaps has induced 
some of us to attend it, because we cannot spare the ready 
Money, and hope now to be fine without it. But, ah, think 
what you do when you run in Debt; you give to another 
Power over your Liberty. If you cannot pay at the Time, 
you will be ashamed to see your Creditor; you will be in 
Fear when you speak to him; you will make poor pitiful 
sneakiiig' Excuses, and by Degrees come to lose your Yera- 
city, and sink into base downright lying; for, as Poor 
Richard says. The second Vice is Lying, the first is run- 
ning in Deht. And again, to the same Purpose, Lying 
rides upon Dehfs Back. WTiereas a free-born Englishman 
ought not to be ashamed or afraid to see or speak to any 
Man living. But Poverty often deprives a Man of all 
Spirit and Yirtue: 'Tis hard for an empty Bag to stand 
upright, as Poor Richard truly says. 

What would you think of that Prince, or that Govern- 
ment, who should issue an Edict forbidding you to dress 
like a Gentleman or a Gentlewoman, on Pain of Imprison- 



74 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

ment or Servitude? Would you not say, that you were 
free, have a Right to dress as you please, and that such an 
Edict would be a Breach of your Privileges, and such a 
Government tyrannical? And yet you are about to put 
yourself under that tyranny, when you run in Debt for 
such Dress ! Your Creditor has Authority, at his Pleasure 
to deprive you of your Liberty, by confining you in Gaol 
for Life, or to sell you for a Servant, if you should not be 
able to pay him! When you have got your Bargain, you 
may, perhaps, think little of Payment; but Creditors, Poor 
Richard tells us, have better Memories than Debtors; and 
in another Place says. Creditors are a superstitious Sect, 
great Observers of set Days and Times. The Day comes 
round before you are aware, and the Demand is made be- 
fore you are prepared to satisfy it. Or if you bear your 
Debt in Mind, the Term which at first seemed so long, will, 
as it lessens, appear extreamly short. Time will seem to 
have added Wings to his Heels as well as Shoulders. Those 
have a short Lent, saith Poor Richard, who owe Money to 
be paid at Easter. Then since, as he says. The Borrower 
is a Slave to the Lender, and the Debtor to the Creditor, 
disdain the Chain, preserve your Freedom; and maintain 
your Independency: Be Industrious and free; be frugal 
and free. At present, perhaps, you may think yourself in 
thriving Circumstances, and that you can bear a little 
Extravagance without Injury; but, 

For Age and Want, save icMle you may; 
No Morning Sun lasts a tohole Day, 

as Poor Richard says. Gain may be temporary and uncer- 
tain, but ever while you live, Expence is constant and cer- 
tain; and ^tis easier to build two Chimnies, than to Jceep 
one in Fuel, as Poor Richard says. So, Rather go to Bed 
supperless than rise in Debt. 

Get what you can, and what you get hold; 

'Tis the Stone that unll turn all your lead into Gold, 

4 

as Poor Richard says. And when you have got the Phi- 
losopher's Stone, sure you will no longer complain of bad 
Times, or the Difficulty of paying Taxes. 

This Doctrine, my Friends, is Reason and Wisdom; but 



THE WAY TO WEALTH 75 

after all, do not depend too much upon your own Indus- 
try, and Frugality, and Prudence, though excellent 
Things, for they may all be blasted without the Blessing 
of Heaven; and therefore, ask that Blessing humbly, and 
be not uncharitable to those that at present seem to want 
it, but comfort and help them. Remember, J oh suffered, 
and was afterwards prosperous. 

And now to conclude. Experience Jceeps a dear School, 
hut Fools will learn in no other, and scarce in that; for it 
is true, we may give Advice, hut we cannot give Conduct, 
as Poor Richard says: However, remember this. They 
that wont he counselled, cant he helped, as Poor Richard 
says : and farther. That, if you will not hear Reason, she'll 
surely rap your Knuckles." 

Thus the old Gentleman ended his Harangue. The Peo- 
ple heard it, and approved the Doctrine, and immediately 
practised the contrary, just as if it had been a common 
Sermon; for the Vendue opened, and they began to buy ex- 
travagantly, notwithstanding, his Cautions and their own 
Eear of Taxes. I found the good Man had thoroughly 
studied my Almanacks, and digested all I had dropt on 
these Topicks during the Course of Five and twenty Years. 
The frequent Mention he made of me must have tired any 
one else, but my Vanity was wonderfully delighted with it, 
though I was conscious that not a tenth Part of the Wis- 
dom was my own, which he ascribed to me, but rather the 
Gleanings I had made of the Sense of all Ages and Na- 
tions. However, I resolved to be the better for the Echo of 
it ; and though I had at first determined to buy Stuff for a 
new Coat, I went away resolved to wear my old One a little 
longer. Reader, if thou wilt do the same, thy Profit will 
be as great as mine. I am, as ever, thine to serve thee, 

Richard Saunders. 
July 7, 1757. 
[Poor Richard Improved, 1758.] 



Ye BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

TO MES. JANE MECOM 

London, September 16, 1758. 
Dear Sister, 

I received your favour of June 17. I wonder you have 
had no letter from me since my being in England. I have 
wrote you at least two, and I think a third before this, and 
what was next to waiting on you in person, sent you my 
picture. In June last I sent Benny a trunk of books, and 
wrote to him; I hope they are come to hand, and that he 
meets with encouragement in his business. I congratulate 
you on the conquest of Cape Breton, and hope as your peo- 
ple took it by praying, the first time, you will now pray 
that it may never be given up again, which you then for- 
got. Billy is well, but in the country. I left him at Tun- 
bridge Wells, where we spent a fortnight, and he is now 
gone with some company to see Portsmouth. We have 
been together over a great part of England this summer, 
and among other places, visited the town our father was 
born in, and found some relations in that part of the coun- 
try still living. 

Our cousin Jane Eranklin, daughter of our uncle John, 
died about a year ago. We saw her husband, Bobert Page, 
who gave us some old letters to his wife, from uncle Ben- 
jamin. In one of them, dated Boston, July 4, 1723, he 
writes that your uncle Josiah has a daughter Jane, about 
twelve years old, a good-humoured child. So keep up to 
your character, and don't be angry when you have no let- 
ters. In a little book he sent her, called "None but 
Christ," he wrote an acrostick on her name, which for 
namesake's sake, as well as the good advice it contains, I 
transcribe and send you, viz. 

"Illuminated from on high. 
And shining brightly in your sphere, 
Ne'er faint, but keep a steady eye, 
Expecting endless pleasures there. 

"Flee vice as you'd a serpent flee; 
Raise faith and Jiope three stories higher, 
And let "Christ's endless love to thee 
Ne'er cease to make thy love aspire. 
Kindness of heart by words express, 
Let your obedience be sincere, 
In prayer and praise your God address. 
Nor cease, till he can cease to hear." 



TO MKS. JANE MECOM Y7 

After professing truly that I had a great esteem and 
veneration for the pious author, permit me a little to play 
the commentator and critic on these lines. The meaning 
of three stories higher seems somewhat obscure. You are 
to understand, then, that faith, hope, and charity have been 
called the three steps of Jacob's ladder, reaching from 
earth to heaven ; our autjior calls them stories, likening re- 
ligion to a building, and these are the three stories of the 
Christian edifice. Thus improvement in religion is called 
huilding up and edification. Faith is then the ground 
floor, hope is up one pair of stairs. My dear beloved 
Jenny, don't delight so much to dwell in those lower 
rooms, but get as fast as you can into the garret, for in 
truth the best room in the house is charity. For my part, 
I wish the house was turned upside down; 'tis so difficult 
(when one is fat) to go up stairs; and not only so, but I 
imagine hope and faith may be more firmly built upon 
charity, than charity upon faith and hope. However that 
may be, I think it the better reading to say — 

"Raise faith and hope one story higher." 

Correct it boldly, and I'll support the alteration ; for, when 
you are up two stories already, if you raise your building 
three stories higher you will make five in all, which is two 
more than there should be, you expose your upper rooms 
more to the winds and storms; and, besides, I am afraid 
the foundation will hardly bear them, unless indeed you 
build with such light stuff as straw and stubble, and that, 
you know, won't stand fire. Again, where the author says, 

"Kindness of heart by words express," 

strike out words, and put in deeds. The world is too full 
of compliments already. They are the rank growth of 
every soil, and choak the good plants of benevolence, and 
beneficence; nor do I pretend to be the first in this com- 
parison of words and actions to plants; you may remem- 
ber an ancient poet, whose works we have all studied and 
copied at school long ago. 

"A man of words and not of deeds 
Is like a garden full of weeds." 



78 BENJAmisr FKANEXIN 

'Tis a pity that good works, among some sorts of people, 
are so little valued, and good words admired in their 
stead: I mean seemingly pious discourses, instead of hu- 
mane benevolent actions. Those they almost put out of 
countenance, by calling morality rotten morality^ right- 
eousness ragged righteousness, and even filthy rags — and 
when you mention virtue, pucker up their noses as if they 
smelt a stink ; at the same time that they eagerly snuff up 
an empty canting harangue, as if it was a posey of the 
choicest flowers: So they have inverted the good old 
verse, and say now 

*'A man of deeds and not of words 
Is like a garden full of " 

I have forgot the rhyme, but remember 'tis something the 
very reverse of perfume. So much by way of commen- 
tary. 

My wife will let you see my letter, containing an ac- 
count of our travels, which I would have you read to sister 
Dowse, and give my love to her. I have no thoughts of re- 
turning till next year, and then may possibly have the 
pleasure of seeing you and yours; taking Boston in my 
way home. My love to brother and all your children, con- 
cludes at this time from, dear Jenny, your affectionate 
brother, 

B. Franklin. 



TO THE PEINTEK OF THE LONDON CHEONICLE 

Sir, 

I met lately with an old Quarto Book on a Stall, the 
Title-Page and the Author's Name wanting, but contain- 
ing Discourses, addressed to some King of Spaine, on the 
Means of extending the Greatness of that Monarchy, 
translated into English, and said in the last Leaf, to be 
printed at London by Bonham Norton and John Bill, 
Printers to the King's most excellent Majestic, 
MDCXXIX. The Author appears to have been a Jesuit, 
for, speaking of that Order in two Places, he calls it our 
Society. Give me leave to communicate to the Public a 



TO PEINTER OF THE LONDON CHRONICLE 79 

Chapter of it, so apropos to our present Situation, (only 
changing Spain for France,) that I think it well worth 
general Attention and Observation, as it discovers the Arts 
of our Enemies, and may therefore help in some Degree to 
put us on our Guard against them. 

What Effect the Artifices here recommended might have 
had in the Times when our Author wrote, I cannot pretend 
to say; but I believe, the present Age being more enlight- 
ened and our People better acquainted than formerly with 
our true National Interest, such Arts can now hardly 
prove so generally successfull; for we may with Pleasure 
observe, and to the Honour of the British People, that tho' 
Writings and Discourses like these have lately not been 
wanting, yet few in any of the Classes he particularizes 
seem to be affected by them, but all Ranks and Degrees 
among us persist hitherto in declaring for a vigorous 
Prosecution of the War, in Preference to an unsafe, dis- 
advantageous, or dishonourable Peace; yet as a little 
Change of Fortune may make such Writings more at- 
tended to and give them greater Weight, I think the Pub- 
lication of this Piece, as it shows the Spring from whence 
these Scriblers draw their poisoned Waters, may be of 
publick Utility. I am, &c. A Briton. 



^^Chap. XXXIV. 

''Of the Meanes of disposing the Enemie to Peace, 

^Warres, with whatsoever Prudence undertaken and 
conducted, do not always succeed; many thinges out of 
Man's Power to governe, such as Dearth of Provision, 
Tempests, Pestilence, and the like, oftentimes interfering 
and totally overthrowing the best Designes; so that these 
Enemies (England and Holland) of our Monarchy, tho' 
apparently at first the weaker, may by disastrous Events of 
War, on our Part, become the stronger, and tho' not in 
such degree, as to endanger the Body of this great King- 
dom, yet, by their greater Power of Shipping and Aptness 
in Sea Affairs, to be able to cut off, if I may so speak, some 
of its smaller Limbs and Members, that are remote there- 
from and not easily defended, to wit, our Islands and Col- 



80 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

onies in the Indies; thereby however depriving the Body 
of its wonted Nourishement, so that it must thenceforthe 
languish and grow weake, if those Parts are not recov- 
ered which possibly may by continuance of Warre be 
found unlikely to be done. And the Enemy puffed up 
with their Successes, and hoping still for more, may not 
be disposed to Peace on such Termes as would be suitable 
to the Honour of your Majestic, and to the Welfare of 
your State and Subjects. In such Case, the following 
Meanes may have good Effect. 

"It is well knowne, that these Northerne People, though 
hardie of Body and bold in Eight, be nevertheless, through 
overmuch Eating and other Intemperance, slowe of Wit, 
and dull in Understanding, so that they are oftimes more 
easilie to be governed and turn'd by Skill than by Force. 
There is therefore always Hope, that by wise Counsel and 
dextrous Management, those Advantages, which through 
crosse Accidents in Warre, have been lost, may again with 
Honour be recovered. In this Place I shall say little of the 
Power of Money secretly distributed among Grandees or 
their Eriends or Paramours; that Method being in all 
Ages known and Practised. If the Minds of Enemies can 
be changed, they may be brought to grant willingly and 
for nothing what much Gold would scarcely have other- 
wise prevailed to obtaine. Yet as the procuring this 
Change is to be by fitte Instruments, some few Doublones 
will not unprofitably be disbursed by your Majestic. The 
manner whereof I shall now briefly recite. 

^Tn those Countries, and particularly in England, there 
are not wanting Menne of Learning, ingenious Speakers 
and Writers, who are nevertheless in lowe Estate, and 
pinched by Fortune. These being privately gained by 
proper Meanes, must be instructed in their Sermons, Dis- 
courses, Writings, Poems, and Songs, to handle and spe- 
cially inculcate Points like these which followe. Let 
theni magnifie the Blessings of Peace, and enlarge might- 
ily thereon, which is not unbecoming grave Divines and 
other Christian Menne. Let them expatiate on the Mis- 
eries of Warre, the Waste of Christian Blood, the grow- 
ing Scarcitie of Labourers and Workmen, the Dearness 
of all foreign Wares and Merchandise, the Interruption 
of Commerce, the Captures of Ships, the Increase and 
great Burthen of Taxes. Let them represent the Warre 



TO PKINTEE OF THE LONDON CHRONICLE 81 

as an unineasurable Advantage to Particulars, and to 
Particulars only, (thereby to excite Envie against those, 
who manage and provide for the same,) while so preju- 
dicial to the Commonweale«and People in general. Let 
them represent the Advantages gained against us as trivial 
and of little import ; the Places taken from us, as of small 
Trade and Produce, inconvenient for Situation, unwhole- 
some for Climate and Ayre, useless to their Nations, and 
greatlie chargeable to keepe, draining the home Country 
both of Menne and Money. 

^*Let them urge, that, if a Peace be forced on us, and 
those Places withhelde, it will nourishe secret Griefe and 
Malice in the King and Grandees of Spaine, which will ere 
long breake forthe in new Warres, when those Places may 
again be retaken, without the Merit and Grace of restoring 
them willingly for Peace' Sake. Let them represent the 
making or continuance of Warres, from view of Gaine, to 
be Base and unworthy a brave People, as those made from 
Views of Ambition are mad and wicked. Let them insin- 
uate that the Continuance of the present Warre, on their 
parte, hath these Ingredients in its Nature. Then let 
them magnifie the Great Power of your Majestic, and the 
Strength of your Kingdom, the inexhaustible Wealthe of 
your Mines, the Greatness of your Incomes, and thence 
your Abilitie of continuing the Warre; hinting withal the 
new Alliances you may possiblie make; at the same time 
setting forth the sincere Disposition you have for Peace, 
and that it is only a Concerne for your Honour, and the 
Honour of your Pealme, that induceth you to insist on the 
Restitution of the places taken. 

"If, with all this, they shrewdly intimate, and cause it to 
be understood by artful Words and believed, that their 
own Prince is himself in heart for Peace, on your Majes- 
tie's Terms, and grieved at the Obstinacy and Perverseness 
of those among his People who are for continuing the 
Warre, a marvellous Effect shall by these Discourses and 
Writings be produced ; and a wonderful strong Party shall 
your Majestic raise among your Enemies in favour of the 
Peace you desire; insomuch that their own Princes and 
wisest Counsellours will in a Sorte be constrained to yeeld 
thereto. For in this Warre of Wordes, the Avarice and 
Ambition, the Hopes and Fears, and all the Crowd of 
Human Passions will be raised and put in array to fight 



82 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

for your Interests against the reall and substantial! Inter- 
est of their own Countries. The simple and undiscerning 
Many shall be carried away by the plausibilitie and well- 
seeming of these Discourses; and the Opinions becoming 
more popular, all the Rich Men, who have great Posses- 
sions, and fear the continuance of Taxes, and hope Peace 
will end them, shall be emboldened thereby to crie aloud 
for Peace; their Dependents, who are many, must do the 
same. 

"All Merchaunts, fearing Loss of Ships and greater 
Burthens on Trade by farther Duties and Subsidies, and 
hoping greater Profits by the ending of the Warre, shall 
join in the Crie for Peace. All the Usurers and Lenders 
of Money to the State, who on a Peace hope great Profit on 
their Bargains, and fear if the Warre be continued the 
State shall become Bankeroute, and unable to paye them; 
these, who have no small weighte, shall join the Crie for 
Peace. All who maligne the bold Conductors of the 
Warre, and envie the Glorie they may have thereby ob- 
tained ; these shall crie aloud for Peace ; hoping that when 
the Warre shall cease, such Menne becoming less neces- 
sarie shall be more lightly esteemed, and themselves more 
sought after. All the Officers of the Enemie's Armies and 
Fleets, who wish for Pepose and to enjoy their Salaries or 
Eewardes in Quietnesse, and without Peril; these and 
their Friends and Families, who desire their Safetie 
and the Solace of their Societie, shall all crie for 
Peace. 

"All those who be timorous by Nature, amongste whom 
be reckoned Menne of Learning that lead sedentarie Lives, 
using little Exercise of Bodie, and thence obtaining but 
few and weake Spirits; great Statesmen, whose natural 
Spirits be exhausted by much thinking, or depressed by 
overmuch Feasting; together with all Women, whose 
Power, weake as they are, is not a little amongste the 
Menne; these shall incessantly speake for Peace: and 
finally all Courtiers, who suppose they conforme thereby to 
the Inclinations of the Prince, {ad Exemplum Regis 
&c.) ; all who are in Places, fear to lose them, or hope for 
better; all who are out of Places, and hope to obtaine 
them ; with all the worldly minded Clergy, who seeke Pre- 
ferment; these, with all the Weighte of their Character 
and Influence, shall join the Crie for Peace ; till it becomes 



TO MISS MAEY STEVENSON 83 

one ■universal Clamour, and no Sound, but that of Peace, 
Peace, Peace, shall be heard from every Quarter. 

"Then shall your Majestie's Termes of Peace be listened 
to with much readinesse, the Places taken from you be 
willingly restored, and your Kingdom, recovering its 
Strength, shall only need to waite a few Years for more 
favourable Occasions, when the Advantages to your Power, 
proposed by beginning the Warre, but lost by its bad Suc- 
cesse, shall with better Fortune, be finally obtained." 

[1Y60.] 



TO MISS MAEY STEVENSON 

Philada March 25, 1763. 

My Dear Polley, 

Your pleasing Favour of Nov. 11 is now before me. It 
found me as you supposed it would, happy with my Ameri- 
can Friends and Family about me; and it made me more 
happy in showing me that I am not yet forgotten by the 
dear Friends I left in England. And indeed, why should I 
fear they will ever forget me, when I feel so strongly that 
I shall ever remember them! 

I sympathise with you sincerely in your Grief at the 
Separation from your old Friend, Miss Pitt. The Reflec- 
tion that she is going to be more happy, when she leaves 
you, might comfort you, if the Case was likely to be so 
circumstanced; but when the Country and Company she 
has been educated in, and those she is removing to, are 
compared, one cannot possibly expect it. I sympathise no 
less with you in your Joys. But it is not merely on your 
Account, that I rejoice at the Recovery of your dear 
Dolly's Health. I love that dear good Girl myself, and I 
love her other Friends. I am, therefore, made happy by 
what must contribute so much to the Happiness of them 
all. Remember me to her, and to every one of that worthy 
and amiable Family, most affectionately. 

Remember me in the same manner to your and my good 
Doctor and Mrs. Hawkesworth. You have lately, you tell 
me, had the Pleasure of spending three Days with them at 
Mr. Stanley's. It was a sweet Society! I too, once par- 
took of that same Pleasure, and can therefore feel what 



84 BENJAMIJSr FEANEXIN 

you must have felt. Remember me also to Mr. and Mrs. 
Stanley, and to Miss Arlond. 

Of all the enviable Things England has, I envy it most 
its People. Why should that petty Island, which compared 
to America, is but like a stepping- Stone in a Brook, scarce 
enough of it above Water to keep one's Shoes dry; why, I 
say, should that little Island enjoy in almost every Neigh- 
bourhood, more sensible, virtuous, and elegant Minds, than 
we can collect in ranging 100 Leagues of our vast forests ? 
But 'tis said the Arts delight to travel Westward. You 
have effectually defended us in this glorious War, and in 
time you will improve us. After the first Cares for the 
Necessaries of Life are over, we shall come to think of the 
Embellishments. Already some of our young Geniuses be- 
gin to lisp Attempts at Painting, Poetry, and Musick. We 
have a young Painter now studying at Pome. Some spec- 
imens of our Poetry I send you, which if Dr. Hawkes- 
worth's fine Taste cannot approve, his good Heart will at 
least excuse. The Manuscript Piece is by a young Friend 
of mine, and was occasion'd by the Loss of one of his 
Friends, who lately made a Voyage to Antigua to settle 
some Affairs, previous to an intended Marriage with an 
amiable young Lady here, but unfortunately died there. 
I send it to you, because the Author is a great Admirer of 
Mr. Stanliey's musical Compositions, and has adapted this 
Piece to an Air in the 6th Concerto of that Gentleman, 
the sweetly solemn Movement of which he is quite in Rap- 
tures with. He has attempted to compose a Recitativo for 
it, but not being able to satisfy himself in the Bass, wishes 
I could get it supply'd. If Mr. Stanley would condescend 
to do that for him, thro' your Intercession, he would es- 
teem it as one of the highest Honours, and it would make 
him excessively happy. You will say that a Recitativo can 
be but a poor Specimen of our Music. 'Tis the best 
and all I have at present, but you may see better here- 
after. 

I hope Mr. Ralph's Affairs are mended since you wrote. 
I know he had some Expectations, when I came away, 
from a Hand that would help him. He has Merit, and one 
would think ought not to be so unfortunate. 

I do not wonder' at the behaviour you mention of Dr. 
Smith towards me, for I have long since known him thor- 
oughly. I made that Man my Enemy by doing him too 



TO MISS MAEY STEVENSON 85 

much Kindness. 'Tis the honestest Way of acquiring* an 
Enemy. And, since 'tis convenient to have at least one 
Enemy, who by his Readiness to revile one on all Occa- 
sions, may make one careful of one's Conduct, I shall keep 
him an Enemy for that purpose; and shall observe your 
good Mother's Advice, never again to receive him as a 
Friend. She once admir'd the benevolent Spirit breath'd 
in his Sermons. She will now see the Justness of the 
Lines your Laureat Whitehead addresses to his Poets, and 
which I now address to her. 

"Full many a peevish, envious, slanderous Elf 
Is, in his Works, Benevolence itself. 
For all Mankind, unknown, his Bosom heaves; 
He only injures' those, with whom he lives. 
Read then the Man; — does Truth his Actions guide, 
Exempt from Petulance, exempt from Pride? 
To social Duties does his Heart attend. 
As Son, as Father, Husband, Brother, Friend? 
Do those, who know him, love him?* If they do, 
You've my Permission: you may love him too." 

Nothing can please me more than to see your philosophi- 
cal Improvements when you have Leisure to communicate 
them to me. I still owe you a long letter on that Subject, 
which I shall pay. I am vex'd with Mr. James, that he has 
been so dilatory in Mr. Maddison's Armonica. I was un- 
lucky in both the Workmen, that I permitted to undertake 
making those Instruments. The first was fanciful, and 
never could work to the purpose, because he was ever con- 
ceiving some new Improvement, that answer'd no End. 
The other I doubt is absolutely idle. I have recommended 
a Number to him from hence, but must stop my hand. 

Adieu, my dear Polly, and believe me as ever, with the 
sincerest Esteem and Kegard, your truly affectionate 
Friend and humble Servant, B. Franklin. 

P. S. My love to Mrs. Tickell and Mrs. Kooke, and to 
Pitty, when you write to her. Mrs. Franklin and Sally de- 
sire to be affectionately remember'd to you. I find the 
printed Poetry I intended to enclose will be too bulky to 
send per the Packet. I shall send it by a Ship, that goes 
shortly from hence. 



86 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

TO THE EDITOE OF A NEWSPAPER 

Monday, May 20, [1765.] 
Sir, 

In your Paper of Wednesday last, an ingenious Cor- 
respondent that calls himself The Spectator, and dates 
from Pimlico, under the Guise of Good Will to the News- 
writers, whom he calls an "useful Body of Men in this 
great City," has, in my Opinion, artfully attempted to turn 
them & their Works into Ridicule, wherein if he could suc- 
ceed, great Injury might be done to the Public as well as 
to those good People. 

Supposing, Sir, that the '^We hears" they give us of this 
& t'other intended Voyage or Tour of this & t'other great 
Personage, were mere Inventions, yet they at least offer us 
an innocent Amusement while we read, and useful Matter 
of Conversation when we are dispos'd to converse. 

Englishmen, Sir, are too apt to be silent when they have 
nothing to say; too apt to be sullen when they are silent; 
and, when they are sullen, to hang themselves. But, by 
these We hears, we are supplied with abundant funds of 
Discourse, we discuss the Motives for such Voyages, the 
Probability of their being undertaken, and the Practicabil- 
ity of their Execution. Here we display our Judgment in 
Politics, our Knowledge of the Interests of Princes, and 
our Skill in Geography, and (if we have it) show our Dex- 
terity moreover in Argumentation. In the mean time, the 
tedious Hour is kill'd, we go home pleas'd with the Ap- 
plauses we have receiv'd from others, or at least with those 
we secretely give to ourselves: We sleep soundly, & live 
on, to the Comfort of our Families. But, Sir, I beg leave 
to say, that all the Articles of News that seem improbable 
are not mere Inventions. Some of them, I can assure you 
on the Faith of a Traveller, are serious Truths. And here, 
quitting Mr. Spectator of Pimlico, give me leave to in- 
stance the various numberless Accounts the Newswriters 
have given us, with so much honest Zeal for the welfare of 
Poor Old England, of the establishing Manufactures in 
the Colonies to the Prejudice of those of this Kingdom. 
It is objected by superficial Readers, who yet pretend to 
some Knowledge of those Countries, that such Establish- 
ments are not only improbable, but impossible, for that 



TO THE EDITOE OF A NEWSPAPEE 87 

their Sheep have but little Wooll, not in the whole suffi- 
cient for a Pair of Stockings a Year to each Inhabitant; 
and that, from the Universal Dearness of Labour among 
them, the Working of Iron and other Materials, except in 
some few coarse Instances, is impracticable to any Advan- 
tage. 

Dear Sir, do not let us suffer ourselves to be amus'd with 
such groundless Objections. The very Tails of the Ameri- 
can Sheep are so laden with Wooll, that each has a little 
Car or Waggon on four little Wheels, to support & keep it 
from trailing on the Ground. Would they caulk their 
Ships, would they fill their Beds, would they even litter 
their Horses with Wooll, if it were not both plenty and 
cheap? And what signifies Dearness of Labour, when an 
English Shilling passes for five and Twenty? Their en- 
gaging 300 Silk Throwsters here in one Week, for New 
York, was treated as a Fable, because, forsooth, they have 
"no Silk there to throw.'' Those, who made this Objec- 
tion, perhaps did not know, that at the same time the 
Agents from the King of Spain were at Quebec to contract 
for 1000 Pieces of Cannon to be made there for the Forti- 
fication of Mexico, and at N York engaging the annual 
Supply of woven Floor-Carpets for their West India 
Houses, other Agents from the Emperor of China were at 
Boston treating about an Exchange of raw Silk for Wooll, 
to be carried in Chinese Junks through the Straits of 
Magellan. 

And yet all this is as certainly true, as the Account said 
to be from Quebec, in all the Papers of last Week, that the 
Inhabitants of Canada are making Preparations for a Cod 
and Whale Fishery this "Summer in the upper Lakes." 
Ignorant People may object that the upper Lakes are 
fresh, and that Cod and Whale are Salt Water Fish : But 
let them know. Sir, that Cod, like other Fish when at- 
tacked by their Enemies, fly into any Water where they 
can be safest ; that Whales, when they have a mind to eat 
Cod, pursue them wherever they fly; and that the grand 
Leap of the Whale in that Chase up the Fall of Niagara is 
esteemed, by all who have seen it, as one of the finest Spec- 
tacles in Nature. Eeally, Sir, the World is grown too in- 
credulous. It is like the Pendulum ever swinging from 
one Extream to another. Formerly every thing printed 
was believed, because it was in print. Now Things seem to 



88 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

be disbelieved for just the very same Reason. Wise Men 
wonder at the present Growth of Infidelity. They should 
have considered, when they taught People to doubt the Au- 
thority of Newspapers and the Truth of Predictions in Al- 
manacks, that the next Step might be a Disbelief in the 
well vouch'd Accts of Ghosts, Witches, and Doubts even of 
the Truths of the Creed ! 

Thus much I thought it necessary to say in favour of an 
honest Set of Writers, whose comfortable Living depends 
on collecting & supplying the Printers with News at the 
small Price of Sixpence an Article, and who always show 
their Regard to Truth, by contradicting in a subsequent 
Article such as are wrong, — for another Sixpence, — to the 
great Satisfaction & Improvement of us Coffee-house Stu- 
dents in History & Politics, and the infinite Advantage of 
all future Livies, Papins, Robertsons, Humes, and Mc- 
Aulays, who may be sincerely inclined to furnish the 
World with that vara Avis, a true History. I am, Sir, 
your humble Servant, A Traveller, 



TO MRS. DEBORAH FRANKLIN 

London, June 22, 1767. 
My dear Child, 

Capt. Falkener is arriv'd, and came yesterday to see me, 
and bring my Letters. I was extreamly glad of yours, be- 
cause I had none by the Packet. It seems now as if I 
should stay here another Winter, and therefore I must 
leave it to your Judgment to act in the Affair of your 
Daughter's Match, as shall seem best. If you think it a 
suitable one, I suppose the sooner it is compleated the bet- 
ter. In that case, I would only advise that you do not 
make an expensive feasting Wedding, but conduct every 
thing with Frugality and (Economy, which our Circum- 
stances really now require to be observed in all our Ex- 
pences : For since my Partnership with Mr. Hall is ex- 
pired, a great Source of our Income is cut off; and if I 
should lose the PostOffice, which among the many Changes 
here is far from being unlikely, we should be reduced to 
our Rents and Interest of Money for a Subsistence, which 
will by no means afford the chargeable Housekeeping and 



TO MRS. DEBOEAH FEANKLIN 89 

Entertainments we have been used to ; — for my own Part I 
live here as frugally as possible not to be destitute of the 
Comforts of Life, making no Dinners for anybody, and 
contenting myself with a single Dish when I dine at home ; 
and yet such is the Dearness of Living here in every Arti- 
cle, that my Expences amaze me. I see too by the Sums 
you have received in my Absence, that yours are very 
great, and I am very sensible that your Situation naturally 
brings you a great many Visitors, which occasion an Ex- 
pence not easily to be avoided especially when one has been 
long in the Practice and Habit of it : — But when People's 
Incomes are lessened, if they cannot proportionably lessen 
their Outgoings, they must come to Poverty. If we were 
young enough to begin Business again, it might be an- 
other Matter;— but I doubt we are past it; and Business 
not well managed ruins one faster than no Business. In 
short, with Frugality and prudent Care we may subsist de- 
cently on what we have, and leave it entire to our Chil- 
dren : — but without such Care, we shall not be able to keep 
it together ; it will melt away like Butter in the Sunshine ; 
and me may live long enough to feel the miserable Conse- 
quences of our Indiscretion. 

I know very little of the Gentleman or his Character, 
nor can I at this Distance. I hope his Expectations are 
not great of any Fortune to be had with our Daughter be- 
fore our Death. I can only say, that if he proves a good 
Husband to her, and a good Son to me, he shall find me as 
good a Father as I can be : — but at present I suppose you 
would agree with me, that we cannot do more than fit her 
out handsomely in Cloaths and Furniture, not exceeding 
in the whole Five Hundred Pounds, of Value. For the 
rest, they must depend as you and I did, on their own In- 
dustry and Care: as what remains in our Hands will be 
barely sufficient for our Support, and not enough for them 
when it comes to be divided at our Decease. 

Having lately bought a Piece of fine Pocket Handker- 
chiefs, I send you 4 of them, being Half the Piece; and 
shall look out for the Quilts you mention, that is, Mrs. 
Stevenson will, and for the Mufi^ & Snail for Sally. None 
of the things are yet come on shore. 

I send you the little Shade tliat was copied from the 
great one. If it will be acceptable to my good Friend Mr. 
Roberts, pray give it to him. Our Polly's Match is quite 



90 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

broke off. The Difference was about Money-Matters. I 
am not displeas'd at it, as I did not much like the Man, 
thinking him a mean-spirited mercenary Fellow, and not 
worthy so valuable a Girl as she is in every Respect, Per- 
son, Fortune, Temper and excellent Understanding. 

Sally Franklin is well ; her Father who had not seen her 
for a twelvemonth, came lately & took her home with him 
for a few Weeks to see her Friends ; — ^he is very desirous I 
should take her with me to America. 

I suppose the blue Room is too blue, the wood being of 
the same Colour with the Paper, and so looks too dark. I 
would have you finish it as soon as you can, thus. Paint 
the Wainscot a dead white; Paper the Walls blue, & tack 
the gilt Border round just above the Surbase and under 
the Cornish. If the Paper is not equal Coloured when 
pasted on, let it be brush'd over again with the same 
Colour: — and let the Papier machee musical Figures be 
tack'd to the middle of the Cieling; — ^when this is done, I 
think it will look very well. 

Who is the Mrs. Morris you mention, as Mother to Dr. 
Bush ? I am glad my Recommendations were of any Serv- 
ice to him. 

I am glad to hear that Sally keeps up and increases the 
Number of her Friends. The best Wishes of a fond Father 
for her Happiness always attend her. I am, my dear 
Debby, your affectionate Husband, 

B. Franklin. 

TO MISS MARY STEVENSON 

Paris, Sept. 14, 1767. 
Dear Polly, 

I am always pleas'd with a Letter from you, and I flatter 
myself you may be sometimes pleas'd in receiving one from 
me, tho' it should be of little Importance, such as this, 
which is to consist of a few occasional Remarks made here, 
and in my Journey hither. 

Soon after I left you in that agreable Society at Brom- 
ley, I took the Resolution of making a Trip with Sir John 
Pringle into France. We set out the 28th past. All the 
way to Dover we were furnished with Post Chaises, hung 
so as to lean forward, the Top coming down over one's 
Eyes, like a Hood, as if to prevent one's seeing the Coun- 



TO MISS MAEY STEVENSON 91 

try ; which being" one of my great Pleasures, I was engaged 
in perpetual Disputes with the Innkeepers, Hostlers, and 
Postilions, about getting the Straps taken up a Hole or 
two before, and let down as much behind, they insisting 
that the Chaise leaning forward was an Ease to the 
Horses, and that the contrary would kill them. I suppose 
the chaise leaning forward looks to them like a Willing- 
ness to go forward, and that its hanging back shows a Re- 
luctance. They added other Reasons, that were no Rea- 
sons at all, and made me, as upon a 100 other Occasions, 
almost wish that Mankind had never been endow'd with a 
reasoning Faculty, since they know so little how to make 
use of it, and so often mislead themselves by it, and that 
they had been furnish'd with a good sensible Instinct in- 
stead of it. 

At Dover, the next Morning, we embark'd for Calais 
with a Number of Passengers, who had never been before 
at sea. They would previously make a hearty Breakfast, 
because, if the Wind should fail, we might not get over till 
Supper time. Doubtless they thought that when they had 
paid for their Breakfast, they had a Right to it, and that, 
when they had swallowed it they were sure of it. But they 
had scarce been out half an Hour, before the Sea laid 
Claim to it, and they were oblig'd to deliver it up. So it 
seems there are Uncertainties, even beyond those between 
the Cup and the Lip. If ever you go to Sea, take my Ad- 
vice, and live sparingly a Day or two beforehand. The 
Sickness, if any, will be lighter and sooner over. We got 
to Calais that Evening. 

Various Impositions we suffered from Boatmen, Porters, 
&c. on both Sides the Water. I know not which are most 
rapacious, the English or French, but the latter have, with 
their Knavery, the most Politeness. 

The Roads we found equally good with ours in England, 
in some Places pav'd with smooth Stone, like our new 
Streets, for many Miles together, and Rows of Trees on 
each Side, and yet there are no Turnpikes. But then the 
poor Peasants complained to us grievously, that they were 
oblig'd to work upon the Roads full two Months in the 
Tear, without being paid for their Labour. Whether this 
is Truth, or whether, like Englishmen, they grumble Cause 
or no Cause, I have not yet been able fully to inform my- 
self. 



92 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

The Women we saw at Calais, on the Road, at Bou- 
loigne, and in the Inns and Villages, were generally of 
dark Complexions; but arriving at Abbeville we found a 
sudden Change, a Multitude of both Women and Men in 
that Place appearing remarkably fair. Whether this is 
owing to a small Colony of Spinners, Wool-combers, and 
Weavers, brought hither from Holland with the Woollen 
Manufacture about 60 Years ago; or to their being less 
exposed to the Sun, than in other Places, their Business 
keeping them much within Doors, I know not. Perhaps as 
in some other Cases, different Causes may club in produc- 
ing the Effect, but the Effect itself is certain. Never was 
I in a Place of greater Industry, Wheels and Looms going 
in every House. 

As soon as we left Abbeville, the Swarthiness return'd. 
I speak generally, for here are some fair Women at Paris, 
who I think are not whiten'd by Art. As to Bouge, they 
don't pretend to imitate Nature in laying it on. There is 
no gradual Diminution of the Colour, from the full Bloom 
in the Middle of the Cheek to the faint Tint near the 
Sides, nor does it show itself differently in different Faces. 
I have not had the Honour of being at any Lady's Toylette 
to see how it is laid on, but 1 fancy I can tell you how it 
is or may be done. Cut a Hole of 3 Inches Diameter in 
a Piece of Paper; place it on the Side of your Face in 
such a Manner as that the Top of the Hole may be just 
under your Eye; then with a Brush dipt in the Colour, 
paint Face and Paper together; so when the Paper is 
taken off there will remain a round Patch of Bed exactly 
the Form of the Hole. This is the Mode, from the Act- 
resses on the Stage upwards thro' all Banks of Ladies to 
the Princesses of the Blood, but it stops there, the Queen 
not using it, having in the Serenity, Complacence, and 
Benignity that shine so eminently in, or rather through 
her Countenance, sufficient Beauty, tho' now an old Wom- 
an, to do extreamly well without it. 

You see I speak of the Queen as if I had seen her, and 
so I have ; for you must know I have been at Court. We 
went to Versailles last Sunday, and had the Honour of 
being presented to the King; he spoke to both of us very 
graciously and chearfully, is a handsome Man, has a very 
lively Look, and appears younger than he is. In the Eve- 
ning we were at the Grand Convert, where the Family sup 



TO MISS MAEY STEVENSON 



93 



in Publick. The Form of their Sitting at the Table was 
this : The table was as you see half a Hollow Square, the 
Service Gold. When either made a Sign for Drink, the 
Word was given by one of the Waiters; A hoire pour le 



a 



P 

< 



w 

Cri 
♦-f 

o 
o 



-i y- 


Waiters 


-< y- 


. , .. 


, u. 




-o — o — o — o- 



9 



THE Queen 



The King 



Roy, or, A hoire pour la Reine, Then two persons within 
the Square approach'd, one with Wine, the other with 
Water in Carajfes; each drank a little Glass of what he 
brought, and then put both the Caraffes with a Glass on a 
Salver, and presented it. Their Distance from each other 
was such, as that other Chairs might have been plac'd be- 
tween any two of them. An Officer of the Court brought 
us up thro' the Crowd of Spectators, and plac'd Sir John 
so as to stand between the King and Madame Adelaide, 
and me between the Queen and Madame Yictoire. The 
King talk'd a good deal to Sir John, asking many Ques- 
tions about our Royal Family ; and did me too the Honour 
of taking some Notice of me; that's saying enough, for I 
would not have you think me so much pleas'd with this 
King and Queen, as to have a Whit less regard than I us'd 
to have for ours. No Frenchman shall go beyond me in 
thinking my own King and Queen the very best in the 
World, and the most amiable. 

Versailles has had infinite Sums laid out in building it 
and supplying it with Water. Some say the Expences 
exceeded 80 Millions Sterling. The Range of Building is 
immense; the Garden-Front most magnificent, all of hewn 
Stone; the Number of Statues, Figures, Urns, &c., in 
Marble and Bronze of exquisite Workmanship, is beyond 
Conception. But the Waterworks are out of Repair, and 



94 BENJAMIN FEANKXIN 

so is great Part of the Front next the Town, looking with 
its shabby half-Brick Walls, and broken Windows, not 
much better than the Houses in Durham Yard. There is, 
in short, both at Versailles and Paris, a prodigious Mix- 
ture of Magnificence and Negligence, with every kind of 
Elegance except that of Cleanliness, and what we call 
Tidyness. ^ Tho' I must do Paris the Justice to say, that 
in two Points of Cleanliness they exceed us. The Water 
they drink, tho' from the Eiver, they render as pure as 
that of the best Spring, by filtring it thro' Cisterns fiU'd 
with Sand; and the Streets by constant Sweeping are fit 
to walk in, tho' there is no pav'd footPath. Accordingly, 
many well-dress'd People are constantly seen walking in 
them. The Crowds of Coaches and Chairs for this Eea- 
son is not so great. Men, as well as Women, carry Um- 
brellas in their Hands, which they extend in case of Eain 
or two (sic) much sun; and a Man with an Umbrella not 
taking up more than 3 foot square, or 9 square feet of the 
Street, when, if in a Coach, he would take up 240 square 
feet, you can easily conceive that tho' the Streets here 
are narrower they may be much less encumber'd. They 
are extreamly well pav'd, and the Stones, being generally 
Cubes, when worn on one Side, may be tum'd and become 
new. 

The Civilities we everywhere receive give us the strong- 
est Impressions of the French Politeness. It seems to be 
a Point settled here universally, that Strangers are to 
be treated with Eespect; and one has just the same Def- 
erence shewn one here by being a Stranger, as in England 
by being a Lady. The Customhouse Officers at Port St. 
Denis, as we enter'd Paris, were about to seize 2 doz of 
excellent Bordeaux Wine given us at Boulogne, and which 
we brought with us; but, as soon as they found we were 
Strangers, it was immediately remitted on that Account. 
'At the Church of Notre Dame, where we went to see a 
magnificent Illumination, with Figures, &c., for the de- 
ceas'd Dauphiness, we found an immense Crowd, who 
were kept out by Guards ; but, the Officer being told that 
we were Strangers from England, he immediately admit- 
ted us, accompanied and show'd us every thing. Why 
don't we practise this Urbanity to Frenchmen? Why 
should they be allowed to outdo us in any thing? 

Here is an Exhibition of Paintings like ours in Lon- 



TO MISS MAEY STEVENSON 95 

don, to whicli Multitudes flock daily. I am not Con- 
noisseur enough to judge which has most Merit. Every 
Night, Sundays not excepted here are Plays or Operas; 
and tho' the Weather has been hot, and the Houses full, 
one is not incommoded by the Heat so much as with us 
in Winter. They must have some Way of changing the 
Air, that we are not acquainted with. I shall enquire 
into it. 

Travelling is one Way of lengthening Life, at least in 
Appearance. It is but about a Fortnight since we left 
London, but the Variety of Scenes we have gone through 
makes it seem equal to Six Months living in one Place. 
Perhaps I have suffered a greater Change, too, in my own 
Person, than I could have done in Six Years at home. I 
had not been here Six Days, before my Taylor and Per- 
ruquier had transform'd me into a Frenchman, Only 
think what a Figure I make in a little Bag- Wig and 
naked Ears! They told me I was become 20 Years 
younger, and look'd very galante; 

So being in Paris where the Mode is to be sacredly 
followed I was once very near making Love to my Friend's 
Wife. 

This Letter shall cost you a Shilling, and you may con- 
sider it cheap, when you reflect, that it has cost me at 
least 50 Guineas to get into the Situation, that enables 
me to write it. Besides, I might, if I had staled at home, 
have won perhaps two Shillings of you at Cribbidge. By 
the Way, now I mention Cards, let me tell you that 
Quadrille is quite out of Fashion here, and English Whisk 
all the Mode at Paris and the Court. 

And pray look upon it as no small Matter, that sur- 
rounded as I am by the Glories of this World, and Amuse- 
ments of all Sorts, I remember you and Dolly and all the 
dear good Folks at Bromley. 'Tis true, I can't help it, 
but must and ever shall remember you all with Pleasure. 

Need I add, that I am particularly, my dear good 
Friend, yours most affectionately, 

B. Franklin. 



96 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

TO PETEK FEANKLIN 

[No date.] 
Dear Brother, 

I like your ballad, and think it well adapted for your 
purpose of discountenancing expensive foppery, and en- 
couraging industry and frugality. If you can get it gen- 
erally sung in your country, it may probably have a good 
deal of the effect you hope and expect from it. But as 
you aimed at making it general, I wonder you chose so 
uncommon a measure in poetry, that none of the tunes 
in common use will suit it. Had you fitted it to an old 
one, well known, it must have spread much faster than 
I doubt it will do from the best new tune we can get 
composed for it. I think too, that if you had given it to 
some country girl in the heart of the Massachusetts, who 
has never heard any other than psalm tunes, or Chevy 
Chace, the Children in the Wood, the Spanish Lady, and 
such old simple ditties, but has naturally a good ear, she 
might more probably have made a pleasing popular tune 
for you, than any of our masters here, and more proper 
for your purpose, which would best be answered, if every 
word could as it is sung be understood by all that hear 
it, and if the emphasis you intend for particular words 
could be given by the singer as well as by the reader; 
much of the force and impression of the song depending 
on those circumstances. I will however get it as well 
done for you as I can. 

Do not imagine that I mean to depreciate the skill of 
our composers of music here; they are admirable at pleas- 
ing practised ears, and know how to delight one another; 
but, in composing for songs, the reigning taste seems to 
be quite out of nature, or rather the reverse of nature, 
and yet like a torrent, hurries them all away with it; 
one or two perhaps only excepted. 

You, in the spirit of some ancient legislators, would 
influence the manners of your country by the united pow- 
ers of poetry and music. By what I can learn of their 
songs, the music was simple, conformed itself to the 
usual pronunciation of words, as to measure, cadence 
or emphasis, &c., never disguised and confounded the lan- 
guage by making a long syllable short, or a short one 
long, when sung; their singing was only a more pleasing. 



TO PETEK FKANKLIN 



97 



because a melodious manner of speaking; it was capable 
of all the graces of prose oratory, while it added the pleas- 
ure of harmony. A modern song, on the contrary, neg- 
lects all the proprieties and beauties of common speech, 
and in their place introduces its defects and absurdities 
as so many graces. I am afraid you will hardly take my 
word for this, and therefore I must endeavour to sup- 
port it by proof. Here is the first song I lay my hand 
on. It happens to be a composition of one of our greatest 
masters, the ever-famous Handel. It is not one of his 
juvenile performances, before his taste could be improved 
and formed: It appeared when his reputation was at the 
highest, is greatly admired by all his admirers, and is 
really excellent in its kind. It is called, ''The additional 
Favourite Song in Judas Maccabeus." Now I reckon 
among the defects and improprieties of common speech, 
the following, viz.: 

1. Wrong placing the accent or emphasis, by laying it 
on words of no importance, or on wrong syllables. 

2. Drawling ; or extending the sound of words or syl- 
lables beyond their natural length. 

3. Stuttering ; or making many syllables of one. 

4. Unintelligibleness ; the result of the three foregoing 
united. 

5. Tautology; and 

6. Screaming J without cause. 

For the wrong placing of the accent, or emphasis, see it 
on the word their instead of being on the word vain, 

?< N S 5 




with their 



vam 



my - ste - rious art. 



And on th^e word Irom^ and the wrong syllable Me. 



m 



it 



cT' 



-^- 



-fi^ 



p=^^^£^^=^ 



God •iiJic wis • doro from -, . . a • bove. 

For the drawling, see the last syllable of the word 
wounded (see p. 98). 



98 



BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 



And in the syllable tins, and the word from, and syl- 
lable hove. 

(r 






* 



^^ 



^^^^ 



I 



Nor 



can heal tb$ wound-^^ 





I 



:i 



-4Z. 



:t= 



-fZ- 



:i=ii 



'ly 



God • like wis • dom from a - bove. 

For the stuttering^ see the words ne'^er relieve^ in 




^ 



J-" — — ^ 



„ ^ ^— i 

Ma - i^c charms can n^er . • re • lieve you. 

Here are four syllables made of one, and eight of three; 
but this is moderate. I have seen in another song, that I 
cannot now find, seventeen syllables made of three, and 
sixteen of one. The latter I remember was the word 
charms; viz., clia^ a, a, a, a, a, a, a, a, a, a, a, a, a, a, arms. 
Stammering with a witness! 

For the unintelligibleness ; give this whole song to any 
taught singer, and let her sing it to any company that 
have never heard it; you shall find they will not under- 
stand three words in ten. It is therefore that at the ora- 
torios and operas one sees with books in their hands all 
those who desire to understand what they hear sung by 
even our best performers. 

For the Tautology; you have, with their vain mysterious 
art, twice repeated; magic charms can ne'er relieve you, 
three times. Nor can heal the wounded heart, three times. 
Godlike wisdom from above, twice; and, this alone can 
ne'er deceive you, two or three times. But this is reason- 
able when compared with the Monster Polypheme, the 
Monster Polypheme, a hundred times over and over, in his 
admired Acis and Galatea. 

As to the screaming ; perhaps I cannot find a fair in- 
stance in this song; but whoever has frequented our 



TO PETEE FKANKLIN 



99 



operas will remember many. And yet here methinks the 
words no and eer, when sung to these notes, have a little 
of the air of screaming, and would actually be screamed 
by some singers. 



i 



i=f 



fr 



^ 



t 



fe 



^ 



w 



— -al- 



J\ro ma - ^c charms can e'er re - Ueve you, 

I send you inclosed the song with its music at length. 
Read the words without the repetitions. Observe how 
few they are, and what a shower of notes attend them: 
You will then perhaps be inclined to think with me, that 
though the words might be the principal part of an an- 
cient song, they are of small importance in a modern one; 
they are in short only a pretence for singing. 

I am, as ever. 

Your affectionate brother, 

B. Eranklin. 

P. S. I might have mentioned inarticulation among 
the defects in common speech that are assumed as beauties 
in modern singing. But as that seems more the fault of 
the singer than of the composer, I omitted it in what re- 
lated merely to the composition. The fine singer, in the 
present mode, stifles all the hard consonants, and polishes 
away all the rougher parts of words that serve to distin- 
guish them one from another; so that you hear nothing 
but an admirable pipe, and understand no more of the 
song, than you would from its tune played on any other 
instrument. If ever it was the ambition of musicians to 
make instruments that should imitate the human voice, 
that ambition seems now reversed, the voice aiming to 
be like an instrument. Thus wigs were first made to 
imitate a good natural head of hair; but when they be- 
came fashionable, though in unnatural forms, we have 
seen natural hair dressed to look like wigs. 

[Published 1769.] 



100 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

THE CEAVEN-STREET GAZETTE 

Saturday, September 22, 1770. 

This morning Queen Margaret, accompanied by her first 
maid of honour, Miss Franklin, set out for Rochester. 
Immediately on their departure, the whole street was in 
tears — from a heavy shower of rain. It is whispered, 
that the new family administration, which took place 
on her Majesty's departure, promises, like all other new 
administrations, to govern much better than the old one. 

We hear, that the great person (so called from his enor- 
mous size), of a certain family in a certain street, is 
grievously affected at the late changes, and could hardly 
be comforted this morning, though the new ministry prom- 
ised him a roasted shoulder of mutton and potatoes for 
his dinner. 

It is said, that the same great person intended to pay 
his respects to another great personage this day, at St. 
James's, it being coronation-day; hoping thereby a little 
to amuse his grief; but was prevented by an accident, 
Queen Margaret, or her maid of honour, having carried 
off the key of the drawers, so that the lady of the bed- 
chamber could not come at a laced shirt for his Highness. 
Great clamours were made on this occasion against her 
Majesty. 

Other accounts say, that the shirts were afterwards 
found, though too late, in another place. And some sus- 
pect, that the wanting a shirt from those drawers was 
only a ministerial pretence to excuse picking the locks, 
that the new administration might have every thing at 
command. 

We hear that the lady chamberlain of the household 
went to market this morning by her own self, gave the 
butcher whatever he asked for the mutton, and had no 
dispute with the potato-woman, to their great amazement 
at the change of times. 

It is confidently asserted, that this afternoon, the 
weather being wet, the great person a little chilly and 
nobody at home to find fault with the expense of fuel, 
he was indulged with a fire in his chamber. It seems the 
design is, to make him contented by degrees with the 
absence of the Queen. 



THE CKAYEJSr-STEEET GAZETTE 101 

A project has been under consideration of government,, 
to take the opportunity of her Majesty's absence for doing* 
a thing she was always averse to, namely, fixing a new 
lock on the street door, or getting a key made to the old 
one; it being found extremely inconvenient, that one or 
other of the great officers of state should, whenever the 
maid goes out for a ha'penny worth of sand, or a pint of 
porter, be obliged to attend the door to let her in again. 
But opinions being divided, which of the two expedients 
to adopt, the project is, for the present, laid aside. 

We have good authority to assure our readers, that a 
Cabinet Council was held this afternoon at tea; the sub- 
ject of which was a proposal for the reformation of man- 
ners, and a more strict observation of the Lord's day. The 
result was a unanimous resolution, that no meat should 
be dressed to-morrow; whereby the cook and the first 
minister will both be at liberty to go to church, the one 
having nothing to do, and the other no roast to rule. It 
seems the cold shoulder of mutton, and the apple-pie, were 
thought sufficient for Sunday's dinner. All pious people 
applaud this measure, and it is thought the new ministry 
will soon become popular. 

We hear that Mr. Wilkes was at a certain house in 
Craven Street this day, and inquired after the absent 
Queen. His good lady and the children are well. 

The report, that Mr. Wilkes, the patriot, made the above 
visit, is without foundation, it being his brother, the 
courtier. 

Sunday, September 23. 

It is now found by sad experience, that good resolutions 
are easier made than executed. Notwithstanding yester- 
day's solemn order of Council, nobody went to church to- 
day. It seems the great person's broad-built bulk lay so 
long abed, that the breakfast was not over till it was too 
late to dress. And least this is the excuse. In fine, it 
seems a vain thing to hope reformation from the example 
of our great folks. 

The cook and the minister, however, both took advan- 
tage of the order so far, as to save themselves all trouble, 
and the clause of cold dinner was enforced, though the 
going to church was dispensed with; just as common 
working folks observe the commandments. The seventh 



102 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

day thou shalt rest, they think a sacred injunction; but 
the other six days thou shalt labour is deemed a mere 
piece of advice, which they may practise when they want 
bread and are out of credit at the ale-house, and may 
neglect whenever they have money in their pockets. 

It must, nevertheless, be said, in justice to our court, 
that, whatever inclination they had to gaming", no cards 
were brought out to-day. Lord and Lady Hewson walked 
after dinner to Kensington, to pay their duty to the 
Dowager, and Dr. Fatsides made four hundred and sixty- 
nine turns in his dining-room, as the exact distance of 
a visit to the lovely Lady Barwell, whom he did not 
find at home; so there was no struggle for and against a 
kiss, and he sat down to dream in the easy-chair, that he 
had it without any trouble. 

Monday, September 24. 

We are credibly informed, that the great person dined 
this day with the Club at the Cat and Bagpipes in the 
City, on cold round of boiled beef. This, it seems, he 
was under some necessity of doing (though he rather dis- 
likes beef), because truly the ministers were to be all 
abroad somewhere to dine on hot roast venison. It is 
thought, that, if the Queen had been at home, he would 
not have been so slighted. And though he shows out- 
wardly no marks of dissatisfaction, it is suspected, that he 
begins to wish for her Majesty's return. 

It is currently reported, that poor Nanny had nothing 
for dinner in the kitchen, for herself and puss, but the 
scrapings of the bones of Saturday's mutton. 

This evening there was high play at Craven Street 
House. The great person lost money. It is supposed the 
ministers, as is usually supposed of all ministers, shared 
the emoluments among them. 

Tuesday, Sept. 25. 

This Morning my good Lord Hutton call'd at Craven- 
Street House, and enquired very respectfully & affection- 
ately concerning the Welfare of the Queen. He then im- 
parted to the big Man a Piece of Intelligence important 
to them both, and but just communicated by Lady 
Hawkesworth, viz. that the amiable and delectable Com- 
panion, Miss D[orothea] B[lount], had made a Vow to 



THE CKAVEN-STEEET GAZETTE 103 

marry absolutely him of the two whose Wife should first 
depart this Life. It is impossible to express the various 
Agitations of Mind appearing in both their Faces on 
this Occasion. Vanity at the Preference given them over 
the rest of Mankind; Affection to their present Wives, 
Fear of losing them, Hope, if they must lose them, to ob- 
tain the proposed Comfort ; Jealousy of each other in case 
both Wives should die together, &c. &c. &c., — all working 
at the same time jumbled their Features into inexplicable 
Confusion. They parted at length with Professions & out- 
ward Appearances indeed of ever-during Friendship, but 
it was shrewdly suspected that each of them sincerely 
wished Health & Long Life to the other^s Wife; & that 
however long either of these Friends might like to live 
himself, the other would be very well pleas'd to survive 
him. 

It is remarked, that the Skies have wept every Day in 
Craven Street, the Absence of the Queen. 

The Publick may be assured that this Morning a cer- 
tain great Personage was asked very complaisantly by 
the Mistress of the Household, if he would chuse to have 
the Blade-Bone of Saturday's Mutton that had been kept 
for his Dinner to-day, hroiVd or cold. He answered grave- 
ly, // there is any Flesh on it, it may he hroiVd; if not, 
it may as well he cold. Orders were accordingly given 
for Broiling it. But when it came to Table, there was 
indeed so very little Flesh, or rather none, (Puss having 
din'd on it yesterday after" Nanny) that if our new Admin- 
istration had been as good Oeconomists as they would be 
thought, the Expense of Broiling might well have been 
saved to the Publick, and carried to the Sinking Fund. 
It is assured the great Person bears all with infinite Pa- 
tience. But the Nation is astonished at the insolent Pre- 
sumption, that dares treat so much Mildness in so cruel 
a manner! 

, A terrible Accident had liJce to have happened this Aft- 
ernoon at Tea. The Boiler was set too near the End of 
the little square Table. The first Ministress was sitting 
at one End of the Table to administer the Tea ; the great 
Person was about to sit down at the other End where the 
Boiler stood. By a sudden Motion the Lady gave the 
Table a Tilt. Had it gone over, the G. P. must have 
been scalded, perhaps to Death. Various are the Sur- 



104 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

raises and Observations on this Occasion. The Godly say 
it would have been a just Judgment on him, for prevent- 
ing, by his Laziness, the Family's going to Church last 
Sunday. The Opposition do not stick to insinuate that 
there was a Design to scald him, prevented only by his 
quick Catching the Table. The Friends of the Ministry 
give it out, that he carelessly jogged the Table himself, & 
would have been inevitably scalded, had not the Ministress 
sav'd him. It is hard for the Publick to come at the 
Truth in these Cases. 

At six o'clock this Afternoon, News came by the Post, 
that her Majesty arrived safely at Rochester on Saturday 
Night. The Bells immediately rang, — for Candles to il- 
luminate the Parlour, the Court went into Cribbidge, and 
the Evening concluded with every other Demonstration 
of Joy. 

It is reported that all the principal Officers of the State 
have received an Invitation from the Dutchess Dowager 
of Bochester to go down thither on Saturday next. But 
it is not yet known whether the great Affairs they have 
on their Hands will permit them to make this Excursion. 

We hear that from the Time of her Majesty's leaving 
Craven- Street House to this Day, no Care is taken to file 
the Newspapers; but they lie about in every Boom in 
every Window, and on every Chair, just where the Great 
Person lays them when he reads them. It is impossible 
Government can long go on in such Hands. 



"to THE PUBLISHER OF THE CRAVEN-STREET GAZETTE. 

''Sir, 

"I make no doubt of the Truth of what the Papers tell 
us, that a certain great Person is half-starved on the 
Blade-Bone of a Sheep (I cannot call it of Mutton, there 
being none on it) by a Set of the most careless, worthless, 
thoughtless, inconsiderate, corrupt, ignorant, blundering, 
foolish, crafty, & knavish Ministers, that ever got into a 
House and pretended to govern a Family and provide a 
Dinner. Alas for the poor old England of Craven Street ! 
If they continue in Power another Week, the Nation will 
be ruined. Undone, totally undone, if I and my Friends 
are not appointed to succeed them. I am a great Admirer 



THE OEAVEN-STEEET GAZETTE 105 

of your useful and impartial Paper; and therefore re- 
quest you will insert this without fail, from 

"Tour humble Servant, 

"Indignation." 



"to the publisher of the craven-street gazette." 

''Sir, 

"Your Correspondent, Indignation^ has made a fine 
Story in your Paper against our Craven Street Ministry, 
as if they meant to starve his Highness, giving him only 
a bare Blade-Bone for his Dinner, while they riot upon 
roast Yenison. The Wickedness of Writers in this Age 
is truly amazing. I believe that if even the Angel Gabriel 
would condescend to be our Minister, and provide our 
Dinners, he could scarcely escape Newspaper Defamation 
from a Gang of hungry, ever-restless, discontented, and 
malicious Scribblers. 

"It is. Sir, a Piece of Justice you owe our righteous 
Administration to undeceive the Publick on this Occa- 
sion, by assuring them of the Fact, which is, that there 
was provided, and actually smoaking on the Table under 
his Royal Nose at the same Instant, as fine a Piece of 
Ribs of Beef roasted as ever Knife was put into, with 
Potatoes, Horse-radish, Pickled Walnuts, &c. which his 
Highness might have eaten of if so he had pleased to do ; 
and which he forbore to do merely from a whimsical 
Opinion (with Respect be it spoken) that Beef doth not 
with him perspire well, but makes his Back itch, to his 
no small Vexation, now that he has lost the little Chi- 
nese ivory Hand at the End of a Stick, commonly called 
a Scratch back, presented to him by her Majesty. This 
is the Truth, and if your boasted Impartiality is real, 
you will not hesitate a Moment to insert this Letter in 
ybur next Paper. 

"I am, the' a little angry at present, 

"Yours as you behave, 
"A Hater of Scandal." 

Junius and Cinna came to hand too late for this Paper, 
but shall be inserted in our next. 

Marriages, none since our last; — ^but Puss begins to go 
a Courting. 



106 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

Deaths. In the back Closet and elsewhere, many poor 
Mice. 

Stocks. Biscuit — very low. Buckwheat & Indian Meal 
— both sour. Tea, lowering daily — in the Canister. Wine, 
shut. 

Wednesday, September 26th. Postscript. — Those in the 
Secret of Affairs do not scruple to assert roundly, that 
our present First Ministress is very notable, having this 
Day been at Market, bought Mutton-Chops, and Apples 4 a 
Penny, made an excellent Applepy with her own Hands, 
and mended two Pair of Breeches. 



TO MISS GEOKGIANA SHIPLEY 

London, September 26, 1772. 
Dear Miss, 

I lament with you most sincerely the unfortunate end 
of poor MuNGO. Few squirrels were better accomplished; 
for he had had a good education, had travelled far, and 
seen much of the world. As he had the honour of being, 
for his virtues, your favourite, he should not go, like com- 
mon skuggs, without an elegy or an epitaph. Let us give 
him one in the monumental style and measure, which, 
being neither prose nor verse, is perhaps the properest for 
grief; since to use common language would look as if 
we were not affected, and to make rhymes would seem 
trifling in sorrow. 

EPITAPH 

Alas! poor Mungo! 
Happy wert thou, hadst thou known 

Thy own felicity. 

Remote from the fierce bald eagle. 

Tyrant of thy native woods, 

Thou hadst nought to fear from his piercing talons, 

Nor from the murdering gun 

Of the thoughtless sportsman. 

Safe in thy wired castle. 

Grimalkin never could annoy thee. 

Daily wert thou fed with the choicest viands. 

By the fair hand of an indulgent mistress; 

** But, discontented. 

Thou wouldst have more freedom. 



AN EDICT BY THE KLNG OF PKUSSIA 107 

Too soon, alas! didst thou obtain it; 

And wandering, 

Thou art fallen by the fangs of wanton, cruel Ranger! 

Learn hence. 

Ye who blindly seek more liberty, 

Whether subjects, sons, squirrels or daughters. 

That apparent restraint may be real protection; 

Yielding peace and plenty 

With security. 

You see, my dear Miss, how mucli more decent and 
proper this broken style is, than if we were to say, by 
way of epitaph. 

Here Skugg 
Lies snug. 
As a bug 
In a rug. 

and yet, perhaps, there are people in the world of so little 
feeling as to think that this would be a good-enough 
epitaph for poor Mungo. 

If you wish it, I shall procure another to succeed him; 
but perhaps you will now choose some other amusement. 

Remember me affectionately to all the good family, and 
believe me ever, 

Your affectionate friend, B. Franklin". 



AN EDICT BY THE KING OF PRUSSIA 

Dantzic, Sept. 5, [1773.] 

We have long wondered here at the supineness of the 
English nation, under the Prussian impositions upon its 
trade entering our port. We did not, till lately, know the 
claims, ancient and modern, that hang over that nation; 
and therefore could not suspect that it might submit to 
those impositions from a sense of duty or from principles 
of equity. The following Edict, just made publick, may, 
if serious, throw some light upon this matter. 

"Frederic, by the grace of God, King of Prussia, &c. 
&c. &c., to all present and to come, (d tons presens et a 
venir,) Health. The peace now enjoyed throughout our 
dominions, having afforded us leisure to apply ourselves 



108 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

to tlie regulation of commerce, the improvement of our 
finances, and at the same time the easing our domestic 
subjects in their taxes : For these causes, and other 
good considerations us thereunto moving, we hereby make 
known, that, after having deliberated these affairs in our 
council, present our dear brothers, and other great of- 
ficers of the state, members of the same, we, of our certain 
knowledge, full power, and authority royal, have made 
and issued this present Edict, viz. 

"Whereas it is well known to all the world, that the first 
German settlements made in the Island of Britain, were 
by colonies of people, subject to our renowned ducal an- 
cestors, and drawn from their dominions, under the con- 
duct of Hengist, Horsa, Hella, Uff, Cerdicus, Ida, and 
others; and that the said colonies have flourished under 
the protection of our august house for ages past; have 
never been emancipated therefrom; and yet have hitherto 
yielded little profit to the same: And whereas we our- 
selves have in the last war fought for and defended the 
said colonies, against the power of Erance, and thereby 
enabled them to make conquests from the said power in 
America, for which we have not yet received adequate 
compensation : And whereas it is just and expedient that 
a revenue should be raised from the said colonies in 
Britain, towards our indemnification; and that those who 
are descendants of our ancient subjects, and thence still 
owe us due obedience, should contribute to the replen- 
ishing of our royal coffers as they must have done, had 
their ancestors remained in the territories now to us ap- 
pertaining : We do therefore hereby ordain and command, 
that, from and after the date of these presents, there 
shall be levied and paid to our officers of the customs, on 
all goods, wares, and merchandizes, and on all grain and 
other produce of the earth, exported from the said Island 
of Britain, and on all goods of whatever kind imported 
into the same, a duty of four and a half per cent ad valo- 
rem, for the use of us and our successors. And that the 
said duty may more effectually be collected, we do hereby 
ordain, that all ships or vessels Bound from Great Britain 
to any other part of the world, or from any other part of 
the world to Great Britain, shall in their respective voy- 
ages touch at our port of Koningsberg, there to be un- 
laden, searched, and charged with the said duties. 



AN EDICT BY THE KING OF PEUSSIA 109 

"And whereas there hath been from time to time dis- 
covered in the said island of Great Britain, by our colon- 
ists there, many mines or beds of iron-stone; and sundry 
subjects, of our ancient dominion, skilful in converting the 
said stone into metal, have in time past transported them- 
selves thither, carrying with them and communicating 
that art; and the inhabitants of the said island, presum- 
ing that they had a natural right to make the best use 
they could of the natural productions of their country 
for their own benefit, have not only built furnaces for 
smelting the said stone into iron; but have erected 
plating-forges, slitting-mills, and steel-furnaces, for the 
more convenient manufacturing of the same ; thereby en- 
dangering a diminution of the said manufacture in our 
ancient dominion ; — we do therefore hereby farther ordain, 
that, from and after the date hereof, no mill or other 
engine for slitting or rolling of iron, or any plating-forge 
to work with a tilt-hammer, or any furnace for making 
steel, shall be erected or continued in the said island of 
Great Britain : And the Lord Lieutenant of every county 
in the said island is hereby commanded, on information 
of any such erection within his county, to order and by 
force to cause the same to be abated and destroyed; as 
he shall answer the neglect thereof to us at his peril. But 
we are nevertheless graciously pleased to permit the in- 
habitants of the said island to transport their iron into 
Prussia, there to be manufactured, and to them returned; 
they paying our Prussian subjects for the workmanship, 
with all the costs of commission, freight, and risk, com- 
ing and returning ; any thing herein contained to the con- 
trary notwithstanding. 

"We do not, however, think fit to extend this our indul- 
gence to the article of wool; but, meaning to encourage, 
not only the manufacturing of woollen cloth, but also the 
raising of wool, in our ancient dominions, and to pre- 
vent both, as much as may be, in our said island, we do 
hereby absolutely forbid the transportation of wool from 
thence, even to the mother country, Prussia; and that 
those islanders may be farther and more effectually re- 
strained in making any advantage of their own wool in 
the way of manufacture, we command that none shall 
be carried out of one county into another; nor shall any 
worsted, bay, or woollen yarn, cloth, says, bays, kerseys. 



110 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

serges, frizes, druggets, cloth-serges, slialloons, or any other 
drapery stuffs or woollen manufactures whatsoever, made 
up or mixed with wool in any of the said counties, be car- 
ried into any other county, or be water-borne even across 
the smallest river or creek, on penalty of forfeiture of the 
same, together with the boats, carriages, horses, &c., that 
shall be employed in removing them. Nevertheless, our 
loving subjects there are hereby permitted (if they think 
proper) to use all their wool as manure for the improve- 
ment of their lands. 

^^And whereas the art and mystery of making hats hath 
arrived at great perfection in Prussia, and the making of 
hats by our remoter subjects ought to be as much as pos- 
sible restrained: And forasmuch as the islanders before 
mentioned, being in possession of wool, beaver and other 
furs, have presumptuously conceived they had a right to 
make some advantage thereof, by manufacturing the same 
into hats, to the prejudice of our domestic manufacture: 
We do therefore hereby strictly command and ordain, that 
no hats or felts whatsoever, dyed or undyed, finished or 
unfinished, shall be loaded or put into or upon any vessel, 
cart, carriage, or horse, to be transported or conveyed out 
of one county in the said island into another county, or 
to any other place whatsoever, by any person or persons 
whatsoever; on pain of forfeiting the same, with a pen- 
alty of five hundred pounds sterling for every offence. 
Nor shall any hat-maker, in any of the said counties, em- 
ploy more than two apprentices, on penalty of five pounds 
sterling per month; we intending hereby, that such hat- 
makers, being so restrained, both in the production and 
sale of their commodity, may find no advantage in con- 
tinuing their business. But, lest the said islanders should 
suffer inconveniency by the want of hats, we are farther 
graciously pleased to permit them to send their beaver furs 
to Prussia; and we also permit hats made thereof to be 
exported from Prussia to Britain; the people thus favoured 
to pay all costs and charges of manufacturing, interest, 
commission to our merchants, insurance and freight going 
and returning, as in the case of iron. 

^'And, lastly, being willing farther to favour our said 
colonies in Britain, we do hereby also ordain and com- 
mand, that all the thieves, highway and street robbers, 
house-breakers, forgerers, murderers, s — d — tes, and vil- 



AN EDICT BY THE KING OF PKUSSIA 111 

lains of every denomination, who have forfeited their 
lives to the law in Prussia; but whom we, in our great 
clemency, do not think fit here to hang, shall be emptied 
out of our gaols into the said island of Great Britain, 
for the better peopling of that country. 

"We flatter ourselves, that these our royal regulations 
and commands will be thought just and reasonable by our 
much-favoured colonists in England; the said regulations 
being copied from their statutes of 10 and 11 William III. 
c. 10, 5 Geo. II. c. 22, 23, Geo. II. c. 29, 4 Geo. I. c. 11, 
and from other equitable laws made by their parliaments ; 
or from instructions given by their Princes ; or from reso- 
lutions of both Houses, entered into for the good govern- 
ment of their own colonies in Ireland and America. 

"And all persons in the said island are hereby cautioned 
not to oppose in any wise the execution of this our Edict, 
or any part thereof, such opposition being high treason; 
of which all who are suspected shall be transported in 
fetters from Britain to Prussia, there to be tried and exe- 
cuted according to the Prussian law. 

"Such is our pleasure. 

"Given at Potsdam, this twenty-fifth day of the month of 
August, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-three, 
and in the thirty-third year of our reign. 
"By the King, in his Council. 

"Kechtmaessig, SecJ' 

Some take this Edict to be merely one of the King's 
Jeux d'E sprit: others suppose it serious, and that he 
means a quarrel with England; but all here think the 
assertion it concludes with, "that these regulations are 
copied from acts of the English parliament respecting 
their colonies," a very injurious one; it being impossible 
to believe, that a people distinguished for their love of 
liberty, a nation so wise, so liberal in its sentiments, so 
just and equitable towards its neighbours, should, from 
mean and injudicious views of petty immediate profit, 
treat its own children in a manner so arbitrary and tyran- 
nical ! 

IGentlemans Magazine, October, 1Y73.] 



112 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 



RULES BY WHICH A GEEAT EMPIEE MAT BE 

EEDUCED TO A SMALL ONE; PEESENTED 

TO A LATE MINISTEE, WHEN HE 

ENTEEED UPON HIS ADMINIS- 

TEATION 

An ancient Sage boasted, that, tho' he could not fiddle, 
he knew how to make a great city of a little one. The 
science that I, a modern simpleton, am about to communi* 
cate, is the very reverse. 

I address myself to all ministers who have the manage- 
ment of extensive dominions, which from their very great- 
ness are become troublesome to govern, because the multi- 
plicity of their affairs leaves no time for fiddling, 

I. In the first place, gentlemen, you are to consider, 
that a great empire, like a great cake, is most easily dimin- 
ished at the edges. Turn your attention, therefore, first 
to your remotest provinces; that, as you get rid of them, 
the next may follow in order. 

II. That the possibility of this separation may always 
exist, take special care the provinces are never incorpo- 
rated with the mother country; that they do not enjoy 
the same common rights, the same privileges in commerce ; 
and that they are governed by severer laws, all of your 
enacting, without allowing them any share in the choice 
of the legislators. By carefully making and preserving 
such distinctions, you will (to keep to my simile of the 
cake) act like a wise ginger-bread-baker, who, to facili- 
tate a division, cuts his dough half through in those places 
where, when baked, he would have it hroJcen to pieces, 

III. Those remote provinces have perhaps been ac- 
quired, purchased, or conquered, at the sole expence of the 
settlers, or their ancestors, without the aid of the mother 
country. If this should happen to increase her strength, 
by their growing numbers, ready to join in her wars; her 
commerce, by their growing demand for her manufac- 
tures; or her naval power, by greater employment for her 
ships and seamen, they may probably suppose some merit 
in this, and that it entitles them to some favour; you are 
therefore to forget it all, or resent it, as if they had done 
you injury. If they happen to be zealous whigs, friends of 
liberty, nurtured in revolution principles, remember all 



A GREAT EMPIRE REDUCED 113 

that to their prejudice, and resolve to punish, it; for such 
principles, after a revolution is thoroughly established, 
are of no more use; they are even odious and abominable, 

IV. However peaceably your colonies have submitted 
to your government, shewn their affection to your inter- 
ests, and patiently borne their grievances ; you are to sup- 
pose them always inclined to revolt, and treat them accord- 
ingly. Quarter troops among them, who by their insolence 
may pro voice the rising of mobs, and by their bullets and 
bayonets suppress them. By this means, like the husband 
who uses his wife ill from suspicion^ you may in time con- 
vert your suspicions into realities. 

V. Remote provinces must have Governors and Judges^ 
to represent the Royal Person, and execute everywhere the 
delegated parts of his office and authority. You ministers 
know, that much of the strength of government depends on 
the opinion of the people ; and much of that opinion on the 
choice of rulers placed immediately over them. If you 
send them wise and good men for governors, who study the 
interest of the colonists, and advance their prosperity, they 
will think their King wise and good, and that he wishes 
the welfare of his subjects. If you send them learned and 
upright men for Judges, they will think him a lover of 
justice. This may attach your provinces more to his gov- 
ernment. You are therefore to be careful whom you 
recommend for those offices. If you can find prodigals, 
who have ruined their fortunes, broken gamesters or stock- 
jobbers, these may do well as governors; for they will prob- 
ably be rapacious, and provoke the people by their extor- 
tions. Wrangling proctors and pettifogging lawyers, too, 
are not amiss; for they will be for ever disputing and 
quarrelling with their little parliaments. If withal they 
should be ignorant, wrong-headed, and insolent, so much 
the better. Attornies' clerks and Newgate solicitors will 
do for Chief Justices, especially if they hold their places 
during your pleasure; and all will contribute to impress 
those ideas of your government, that are proper for a peo- 
ple you would wish to renounce it. 

VI. To confirm these impressions, and strike them 
deeper, whenever the injured come to the capital with com- 
plaints of mal-administration, oppression, or injustice, 
punish such suitors with long delay, enormous expence, 
and a final judgment in favour of the oppressor. This will 



114 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

have an admirable effect every way. The trouble of future 
complaints will be prevented, and Governors and Judges 
will be encouraged to farther acts of oppression and injus- 
tice; and thence the people may become more disaffected, 
and at length desperate. 

VII. When such Governors have crammed their cof- 
fers, and made themselves so odious to the people that 
they can no longer remain among them, with safety to 
their persons, recall and reward them with pensions. You 
may make them haronets too, if that respectable order 
should not think fit to resent it. All will contribute to en- 
courage new governors in the same practice, and make the 
supreme government, detestable, 

VIII. If, when you are engaged in war, your colonies 
should vie in liberal aids of men and money against the 
common enemy, upon your simple requisition, and give far 
beyond their abilities, reflect that a penny taken from 
them by your power is more honourable to you, than a 
pound presented by their benevolence; despise therefore 
their voluntary grants, and resolve to harass them with 
novel taxes. They will probably complain to your parlia- 
ments, that they are taxed by a body in which they have no 
representative, and that this is contrary to common right. 
They will petition for redress. Let the Parliaments flout 
their claims, reject their petitions, refuse even to suffer the 
reading of them, and treat the petitioners with the utmost 
contempt. Nothing can have a better effect in producing 
the alienation proposed; for though many can forgive in- 
juries, none ever forgave contempt, 

IX. In laying these taxes, never regard the heavy 
burthens those remote people already undergo, in defend- 
ing their own frontiers, supporting their own provincial 
governments, making new roads, building bridges, 
churches, and other public edifices, which in old countries 
have been done to your hands by your ancestors, but which 
occasion constant calls and demands on the purses of a 
new people. Forget the restraints you lay on their trade 
for your own benefit, and the advantage a monopoly of this 
trade gives your exacting merchants. Think nothing of 
the wealth those merchants and your manufacturers ac- 
quire by the colony commerce; their encreased ability 
thereby to pay taxes at home; their accumulating, in the 
price of their commodities, most of those taxes, and so 



A GEEAT EMPIEE KEDUCED 115 

levying them from their consuming customers; all this, 
and the employment and support of thousands of your poor 
by the colonists, you are intirely to forget. But remember 
to make your arbitrary tax more grievous to your prov- 
inces, by public declarations importing that your power of 
taxing them has no limits; so that when you take from 
them without their consent one shilling in the pound, you 
have a clear right to the other nineteen. This will prob- 
ably weaken every idea of security in their property^ and 
convince them, that under such a government they have 
nothing they can call their own; which can scarce fail of 
producing the happiest consequences! 

X. Possibly, indeed, some of them might still comfort 
themselves, and say, "Though we have no property, we 
have yet something left that is valuable; we have constitu- 
tional liherty, both of person and of conscience. This 
King, these Lords, and these Commons, who it seems are 
too remote from us to know us, and feel for us, cannot 
take from us our Habeas Corpus right, or our right of 
trial hy a jury of our neighbours; they cannot deprive us 
of the exercise of our religion, alter our ecclesiastical con- 
stitution, and compel us to be Papists, if they please, or 
Mahometans." To annihilate this comfort, begin by laws 
to perplex their commerce with infinite regulations, im- 
possible to be remembered and observed; ordain seizures 
of their property for every failure; take away the trial of 
such property by Jury, and give it to arbitrary Judges of 
your own appointing, and of the lowest characters in the 
country, whose salaries and emoluments are to arise out of 
the duties or condemnations, and whose appointments are 
during pleasure. Then let there be a formal declaration of 
both Houses, that opposition to your edicts is treason, and 
that any person suspected of treason in the provinces may, 
according to some obsolete law, be seized and sent to the 
metropolis of the empire for trial; and pass an act, that 
those there charged with certain other ofPences, shall be 
sent away in chains from their friends and country to be 
tried in the same manner for felony. Then erect a new 
Court of Inquisition among them, accompanied by an 
armed force, with instructions to transport all such sus- 
pected persons ; to be ruined by the expence, if they bring 
over evidences to prove their innocence, or be found guilty 
and hanged, if they cannot afford it. And, lest the people 



116 BENJAMIN EEANKLIN 

should think you cannot possibly go any farther, pass an- 
other solemn declaratory act, ^^that King, Lords, Commons 
had, hath, and of right ought to have, full power and au- 
thority to make statutes of sufficient force and validity to 
bind the unrepresented provinces in all cases whatso- 
ever/' This will include spiritual with temporal, and, 
taken together, must operate wonderfully to your purpose : 
by convincing them, that they are at present under a 
power something like that spoken of in the scriptures, 
which can not only kill their hodieSj but damn their souls 
to all eternity, by compelling them, if it pleases, to worship 
the Devil, 

XI. To make your taxes more odious, and more likely 
to procure resistance, send from the capital a board of 
officers to superintend the collection, composed of the most 
indiscreet, ill-hred, and insolent you can find. Let these 
have large salaries out of the extorted revenue, and live 
in open, grating luxury upon the sweat and blood of the 
industrious; whom they are to worry continually with 
groundless and expensive prosecutions before the above- 
mentioned arbitrary revenue Judges; all at the cost of the 
party prosecuted, tho' acquitted, because the King is to 
pay no costs. Let these men, hy your order, be exempted 
from all the common taxes and burthens of the province, 
though they and their property are protected by its laws. 
If any revenue officers are suspected of the least tenderness 
for the people, discard them. If others are justly com- 
plained of, protect and reward them. If any of the under 
officers behave so as to provoke the people to drub them, 
promote those to better offices : this will encourage others 
to procure for themselves such profitable drubbings, by 
multiplying and enlarging such provocations, and all will 
work towards the end you aim at. 

XII. Another way to make your tax odious, is to mis- 
apply the produce of it. If it was originally appropriated 
for the defence of the provinces, the better support of gov- 
ernment, and the administration of justice, where it may 
be necessary, then apply none of it to that defence, but be- 
stow it where it is not necessary, in augmented salaries or 
pensions to every governor, who has distinguished himself 
by his enmity to the people, and by calumniating them to 
their sovereign. This will make them pay it more unwill- 
ingly, and be more apt to quarrel with those that collect 



A GKEAT EMPIKE KEDUCED 117 

it and those that imposed it, who will quarrel again with 
them, and all shall contribute to your main purpose, of 
making them weary of your government. 

XIII. If the people of any province have been accus- 
tomed to support their own Governors and Judges to sat- 
isfaction, you are to apprehend that such Governors and 
Judges may be thereby influenced to treat the people 
kindly, and to do them justice. This is another reason 
for applying part of that revenue in larger salaries to such 
Governors and Judges, given, as their commissions are, 
during your pleasure only; forbidding them to take any 
salaries from their provinces ; that thus the people may no 
longer hope any kindness from their Governors, or (in 
Crown cases) any justice from their Judges. And, as the 
money thus misapplied in one province is extorted from, 
all, probably all will resent the misapplication. 

Xiy. If the parliaments of your provinces should dare 
to claim rights, or complain of your administration, order 
them to be harassed with repeated dissolutions. If the 
same men are continually returned by new elections, ad- 
journ their meetings to some country village, where they 
cannot be accommodated, and there keep them during 
pleasure; for this, you know, is your prerogative; and an 
excellent one it is, as you may manage it to promote dis- 
contents among the people, diminish their respect, and 
increase their disaffection. 

XV. Convert the brave, honest officers of your navy 
into pimping tide-waiters and colony officers of the cus- 
toms. Let those, who in time of war fought gallantly in 
defence of the commerce of their countrymen, in peace be 
taught to prey upon it. Let them learn to be corrupted 
by great and real smugglers ; but (to shew their diligence) 
scour with armed boats every bay, harbour, river, creek, 
cove, or nook throughout the coast of your colonies; stop 
and detain every coaster, every wood-boat, every fisherman, 
tumble their cargoes and even their ballast inside out and 
upside down; and, if a penn'orth of pins is found un-en- 
tered, let the whole be seized and confiscated. Thus shall 
the trade of your colonists suffer more from their friends 
in time of peace, than it did from their enemies in war. 
Then let these boats crews land upon every farm in their 
way, rob the orchards steal the pigs and the poultry, 
and insult the inhabitants. If the injured and exasper- 



118 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

ated farmers, unable to procure other justice, should at- 
tack the aggressors, drub them, and burn their boats ; you 
are to call this high treason and rebellion, order fleets and 
armies into their country, and threaten to carry all the 
offenders three thousand miles to be hanged, drawn, and 
quartered. 0! this will work admirably I 

XYI. If you are told of discontents in your colonies, 
never believe that they are general, or that you have given 
occasion for them ; therefore do not think of applying any 
remedy, or of changing any offensive measure. Redress 
no grievance, lest they should be encouraged to demand 
the redress of some other grievance. Grant no request 
that is just and reasonable, lest they should make another 
that is unreasonable. Take all your informations of the 
state of the colonies from your Governors and officers in 
enmity with them. Encourage and reward these leasing- 
makers; secrete their lying accusations, lest they should be 
confuted ; but act upon them as the clearest evidence ; and 
believe nothing you hear from the friends of the people: 
suppose all their complaints to be invented and promoted 
by a few factious demagogues, whom if you could catch 
and hang, all would be quiet. Catch and hang a few of 
them accordingly; and the blood of the Martyrs shall worh 
miracles in favour of your purpose. 

XYII. If you see rival nations rejoicing at the pros- 
pect of your disunion with your provinces, and endeav- 
ouring to promote it; if they translate, publish, and ap- 
plaud all the complaints of your discontented colonists, at 
the same time privately stimulating you to severer meas- 
ures, let not that alarm or offend you. Why should it, 
since you all mean the same thing? 

XYIII. If any colony should at their own charge erect 
a fortress to secure their port against the fleets of a for- 
eign enemy, get your Governor to betray that fortress into 
your hands. Never think of paying what it cost the coun- 
try, for that would look, at least, like some regard for jus- 
tice; but turn it into a citadel to awe the inhabitants and 
curb their commerce. If they should have lodged in such 
fortress the very arms they bought and used to aid you in 
your conquests, seize them all ; it will provoke like ingrati- 
tude added to robbery. One admirable effect of these op- 
erations will be, to discourage every other colony from 
erecting such defences, and so your enemies may more 



A PAEABLE AGAINST PEESECUTIOJST 119 

easily invade them; to the great disgrace of your govern- 
ment, and of course the furtherance of your project, 

XIX. Send armies into their country under pretence of 
protecting the inhabitants ; but, instead of garrisoning the 
forts on their frontiers with those troops, to prevent incur- 
sions, demolish those forts, and order the troops into the 
heart of the country, that the savages may be encouraged 
to attack the frontiers, and that the troops may be pro- 
tected by the inhabitants. This will seem to proceed from 
your ill will or your ignorance, and contribute farther to 
produce and strengthen an opinion among them, that you 
are no longer fit to govern them. 

XX. Lastly, invest the General of your army in the 
provinces, with great and unconstitutional powers, and 
free him from the controul of even your own Civil Gov- 
ernors. Let him have troops enow under his command, 
with all the fortresses in his possession; and who knows 
but (like some provincial Generals in the Eoman empire, 
and encouraged by the universal discontent you have pro- 
duced) he may take it into his head to set up for himself? 
If he should, and you have carefully practised these few 
excellent rules of mine, take my word for it, all the prov- 
inces will immediately join him; and you will that day (if 
you have not done it sooner) get rid of the trouble of gov- 
erning them, and all the plagues attending their commerce 
and connection from henceforth and for ever. 

• Q. E. D. 

{^Gentleman's Magazine, September, 1773.] 



A PAEABLE AGAINST PEESECUTION 

1. And it came to pass after these things, that Abraham 
sat in the door of his tent, about the going down of the 
sun. 

2. And behold a man, bent with age, coming from the 
way of the wilderness, leaning on a staff. 

3. And Abraham arose and met him, and said unto him, 
Turn in, I pray thee, and wash thy feet, and tarry all 
night, and thou shalt arise early in the morning, and go 
on thy way. 

4. But the man said. Nay, for I will abide under this 
tree. 



120 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

5. And Abraham pressed hini greatly; so he turned, 
and they went into the tent; and Abraham baked unleav- 
ened bread, and they did eat. 

6. And when Abraham saw that the man blessed not 
God, he said unto him, Wherefore dost thou not worship 
the most high God, Creator of heaven and earth ? 

Y. And the man answered and said, I do not worship 
thy God, neither do I call upon his name ; for I have made 
to myself a god, which abideth always in mine house, and 
provideth me with all things. 

8. And Abraham's zeal was kindled against the man, 
and he arose and fell upon him, and drove him forth with 
blows into the wilderness. 

9. And God called unto Abraham, saying, Abraham, 
where is the stranger? 

10. And Abraham answered and said. Lord, he would 
not worship thee, neither would he call upon thy name; 
therefore have I driven him out from before my face into 
the wilderness. 

11. And God said. Have I borne with him these hundred 
and ninety and eight years, and nourished him, and 
cloathed him, notwithstanding his rebellion against me; 
and couldst not thou, who art thyself a sinner, bear with 
him one night? 

12. And Abraham said, Let not the anger of the Lord 
wax hot against his servant ; lo, I have sinned ; lo, I have 
sinned ; forgive me, I pray thee. 

13. And Abraham arose, and went forth into the wilder- 
ness, and sought diligently for the man, and found him, 
and returned with him to the tent; and when he had en- 
treated him kindly, he sent him away on the morrow with 
gifts. 

14. And God spake again unto Abraham, saying, For 
this thy sin shall thy seed be afflicted four hundred years in 
a strange land; 

15. But for thy repentance will I deliver them; and they 
shall come forth with power, and with gladness of heart, 
and with much substance. [1774.] 



A PAKABLE ON BEOTHEELY LOVE 121 



A PAEABLE ON BEOTHEELY LOVE 

1. In those days there was no worker of iron in all the 
land. And the merchants of Midian passed by with their 
camels, bearing spices, and myrrh, and balm, and wares of 
iron. 

2. And Eeuben bought an axe of the Ishmaelite mer- 
chants, which he prized highly, for there was none in his 
father's house. 

3. And Simeon said unto Eeuben his brother, ^Xend me, 
I pray thee, thine axe.'' But he refused, and would not. 

4. And Levi also said unto him, ^^My brother, lend me, 
I pray thee, thine axe;" and he refused him also. 

5. Then came Judah unto Eeuben, and entreated him, 
saying, "Lo, thou lovest me, and I have always loved thee; 
do not refuse me the use of thine axe." 

6. But Eeuben turned from him, and refused him like- 
wise. 

7. Now it came to pass, that Eeuben hewed timber on 
the bank of the river, and his axe fell therein, and he 
could by no means find it. 

8. But Simeon, Levi, and Judah had sent a messenger 
after the Ishmaelites with money, and had bought for 
themselves each an axe. 

9. Then came Eeuben unto Simeon, and said, 'Xo, I 
have lost mine axe, and my work is unfinished; lend me 
thine, I pray thee." 

10. And Simeon answered him, saying, ^^Thou wouldest 
not lend me thine axe, therefore will I not lend thee mine." 

11. Then went he unto Levi, and said unto him, "My 
brother, thou knowest my loss and my necessity; lend me, 
I pray thee, thine axe." 

12. And Levi, reproached him, saying, "Thou wouldest 
not lend me thine axe when I desired it, but I will be 
better than thou, and will lend thee mine." 

13. And Eeuben was grieved at the rebuke of Levi and 
being ashamed, turned from him, and took not the axe, but 
sought his brother Judah. 

14. And as he drew near, Judah beheld his countenance 
as it were covered with grief and shame ; and he prevented 
him, saying, "My brother, I know thy loss ; but why should 
it trouble thee? Lo, have I not an axe that will serve 



122 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

both thee and me? Take it, I pray thee, and use it as 
thine own/' 

15. And Reuben fell on his neck, and kissed him, with 
tears, saying, "Thy kindness is great, but thy goodness in 
forgiving me is greater. Thou are indeed my brother, and 
whilst I live, will I surely love thee.'' 

16. And Judah said, "Let us also love our other breth- 
ren; behold, are we not all of one blood?" 

17. And Joseph saw these things, and reported them to 
his father Jacob. 

18. And Jacob said, "Reuben did wrong, but he re- 
pented. Simeon also did wrong; and Levi was not alto- 
gether blameless. 

19. "But the heart of Judah is princely. Judah hath 
the soul of a king. His father's children shall bow down 
before him, and he shall rule over his brethren." 

[1774.] 

TO WILLIAM STRAHAN' 

Philada July 5, 1775 
Mr, Strahan, 

You are a Member of Parliament, and one of that Ma- 
jority which has doomed my Country to Destruction. — 
You have begun to burn our Towns, and murder our 
People. — Look upon your Hands ! They are stained with 
the Blood of your Relations ! — You and I were long 
Friends : — You are now my Enemy, — and I am 

Yours, 

B. Franklin. 

THE SALE OF THE HESSIANS 

FROM THE COUNT DE SCHAUMBERGH TO THE BARON HOHEN- 
DORF, COMMANDING THE HESSIAN TROOPS IN AMERICA 

Rome, February 18, 1777. 

Monsieur Le Baron: — On my return from Naples, I 
received at Rome your letter of the 27th December of last 
year. I have learned with unspeakable pleasure the cour- 

1 This letter was never sent. 



THE SALE OF THE HESSIANS 123 

age our troops exhibited at Trenton, and you cannot imag- 

l? T- ^11 T t'u^ *^^*^ *^^* °^ t^« 1'950 Hessians en- 
gaged m the fight but 345 escaped. There were just 1,C05 
men killed, and I cannot sufficiently commend your pru- 
dence m sending an exact list of the dead to my minister 
in l^ondon. Ihis precaution was the more necessary, as 

iSLni- Jt ' '^^"^■*^, "^.^^^ ^®^'*50 florins instead of 
643,500 which I am entitled to demand under our conven- 
tion. You will comprehend the prejudice which such an 
error would work m my finances, and I do not doubt you 
win take the necessary pains to prove that Lord North's 
list IS talse and yours correct. 

The court of London objects that there were a hundred 
wounded who ought not to be included in the list, nor 
paid lor as dead; but I trust you will not overlook my 
instructions to you on quitting Cassel, and that you will 
not have tried by human succor to recall the life of the 
unfortunates whose days could not be lengthened but by 
the loss of a leg or an arm. That would be making them 
a pernicious present, and I am sure they would rather die 
than live m a condition no longer fit for my service. I do 

\ TJ'u'^}'^ *^'^ *^^* y°" ^boi^l'J assassinate them; we 
should be humane, my dear Baron, but you may insinuate 
to the surgeons with entire propriety that a crippled man 
is_ a reproach to their profession, and that there is no 
wiser course than to let every one of them die when he 
ceases to be fit to fight. 

I am about to send to you some new recruits. Don't 
economize them. Eemember glory before all things. Glory 
is true wealth. There is nothing degrades the soldier like 
the love of money. He must care only for honour and 
reputation but this reputation must be acquired in the 
mrdst of dangers. A battle gained without costing the 
conqueror any blood is an inglorious success, while the 
conquered cover themselves with glory by perishing with 
their arms m their hands. Do you remember that of the 
ciOO Lacedffimonians who defended the defile of Thermopy- 
iffi, not one returned? How happy should I be could I 
say the same of my brave Hessians ! 

It k true that their king, Leonidas, perished with them : 
but things have changed, and it is no longer the custom 
tor princes of the empire to go and fight in America for 



124 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

a cause with which they have no concern. And besides, 
to whom should they pay the thirty guineas per man if I 
did not stay in Europe to receive them? Then, it is nec- 
essary also that I be ready to send recruits to replace the 
men you lose. For this purpose I must return to Hesse. 
It is true, grown men are becoming scarce there, but I 
will send you boys. Besides, the scarcer the commodity 
the higher the price. I am assured that the women and 
little girls have begun to till our lands, and they get on 
not badly. You did right to send back to Europe that 
Dr. Crumerus who was so successful in curing dysentery. 
Don't bother with a man who is subject to looseness of the 
bowels. That disease makes bad soldiers. One coward 
will do more mischief in an engagement than ten brave 
men will do good. Better that they burst in their bar- 
racks than fly in a battle, and tarnish the glory of our 
arms. Besides, you know that they pay me as killed for 
all who die from disease, and I don't get a farthing for 
runaways. My trip to Italy, which has cost me enor- 
mously, makes it desirable that there should be a great 
mortality among them. You will therefore promise pro- 
motion to all who expose themselves ; you will exhort them 
to seek glory in the midst of dangers; you will say to 
Major Maundorff that I am not at all content with his 
saving the 345 men who escaped the massacre of Treuton. 
Through the whole campaign he has not had ten men 
killed in consequence of his orders. Finally, let it be your 
principal object to prolong the war and avoid a decisive 
engagement on either side, for I have made arrangements 
for a grand Italian opera, and I do not wish to be obliged 
to give it up. Meantime I pray God, my dear Baron de 
Hohendorf, to ha\e you in his holy and gracious keeping. 

[1777.] 



MODEL OF A LETTEE OF EEC0M1£ENDATI0N 

Paris, April 2, 1777. 

Sir: — The bearer of this, who is going to America, 
presses me to give him a Letter of Eecommendation, tho' 
I know nothing of him, not even his Name. This may 
seem extraordinary, but I assure you it is not uncommon 



A DIALOGUE 125 

here. Sometimes, indeed one unknown Person brings an- 
other equally unknown, to recommend him; and some- 
times they recommend one another! As to this Gentle- 
man, I must refer you to himself for his Character and 
Merits, with which he is certainly better acquainted than I 
can possibly be. I recommend him however to those 
Civilities, which every Stranger, of whom one knows no 
Harm, has a Right to; and I request you will do him all 
the good Offices, and show him all the Favour that, on 
further Acquaintance, you shall find him to deserve. I 
have the Honour to be, etc. [B. F.] 



A DIALOGUE 

BETWEEN 

BRITAIN, FRANCE, SPAIN, HOLLAND, SAXONY 

AND AMERICA 

Britain, Sister of Spain, I have a Favour to ask of 
you. My Subjects in America are disobedient, and I am 
about to chastize them; I beg you will not furnish them 
with any Arms or Ammunition. 

Spain, Have you forgotten, then, that when my Sub- 
jects in the Low Countries rebelled against me, you not 
only furnish'd them with military Stores, but join'd them 
with an Army and a Fleet? I wonder how you can have 
the Impudence to ask such a Favour of me, or the Folly 
to expect it! 

Britain, You, my dear Sister of France, will surely 
not refuse me this Favour. 

France, Did you not assist my Rebel Hugenots with 
a 'Fleet and an Army at Rochelle? And have you not 
lately aided privately and sneakingly my Rebel Subjects 
in Corsica? And do you not at this Instant keep their 
Chief, pensioned, and ready to head a fresh Revolt there, 
whenever you can find or make an Opportunity? Dear 
Sister, you must be a little silly! 

Britain, Honest Holland! You see it is remembered 
that I was once your Friend; you will therefore be mine 
on this Occasion. I know, indeed, you are accustomed to 
smuggle with these Rebels of mine. I will wink at that; 



126 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

sell 'em as much Tea as you please, to enervate the Ras- 
cals, since they will not take it of me; but for God's sake 
don't supply them with any Arms ! 

Holland. 'T is true you assisted me against Philip, my 
Tyrant of Spain, but have I not assisted you against one 
of your Tyrants ; and enabled you to expell him ? Surely 
that Accompt, as we Merchants say, is hallanced, and I am 
nothing in your Debt. I have indeed some Complaints 
against you^ for endeavouring to starve me by your Navi- 
gation Acts; but, being peaceably dispos'd, I do not quar- 
rel with you for that. I shall only go on quietly with my own 
Business. Trade is my Profession : 't is all I have to sub- 
sist on. And, let me tell you, I shall make no scruple (on 
the prospect of a good Market for that Commodity) even 
to send my ships to Hell and supply the Devil with Brim- 
stone. Por you must know, I can insure in London 
against the Burning of my Sails. 

America to Britain, Why, you old bloodthirsty Bully ! 
You wbo have been everywhere vaunting your own Prow- 
ess, and defaming the Americans as poltroons ! You who 
have boasted of being able to march over all their Bellies 
with a single Regiment! You who by Praud have pos- 
sessed yourself of their strongest Portress, and all the 
arms they had stored up in it! You who have a disci- 
plin'd Army in their Country, intrenched to the Teeth, and 
provided with every thing ! Do you run about begging all 
Europe not to supply those poor People with a little Pow- 
der and Shot? Do you mean, then, to fall upon them 
naked and unarm' d, and butcher them in cold Blood? Is 
this your Courage? Is this your Magnanimity? 

Britain, Oh! you wicked — Whig — Presbyterian — 
Serpent! Have you the Impudence to appear before me 
after all your Disobedience? Surrender immediately all 
your Liberties and Properties into my Hands, or I will 
cut you to Pieces. Was it for this that I planted your 
country at so great an Expence ? That I protected you in 
your Infancy, and defended you against all your Enemies ? 

America, I shall not surrender my Liberty and Prop- 
erty, but with my Life. It is not true, that my Country 
was planted at your expence. Your own Records refute 
that Palshood to your Pace. Nor did you ever afford me 
a Man or a Shilling to defend me against the Indians, the 
only Enemies I had upon my own Account. But, when 



A DIALOGUE 127 

you have quarrell'd with all Europe, and drawn me with 
^ou into all your Broils, then you value yourself upon 
protecting me from the Enemies you have made for me. 
I have no natural Cause of Difference with Spain, Erance, 
or Holland, and yet by turns I have join'd with you in 
Wars against them all. Tou would not suffer me to make 
or keep a separate Peace with any of them, tho' I might 
easily have done it to great Advantage. Does your pro- 
tecting me in those Wars give you a Eight to fleece me? 
if so, as I fought for you, as well as you for me, it gives 
me a proportionable Kight to fleece you. What think you 
of an American Law to make a Monopoly of you and your 
Commerce, as you have done by your Laws of me and 
mine? Content yourself with that Monopoly if you are 
Wise, and learn Justice if you would be respected ! 

Britain, You impudent b ^h! Am not I your 

Mother Country? Is that not a sufficient Title to your 
Respect and Obedience? 

Saxony, Mother country! Hah, hah, he! What Re- 
spect have you the front to claim as a Mother Country? 
You know that I am your Mother Country, and yet you 
pay me none. Nay, it is but the other day, that you hired 
Ruffians^ to rob me on the Highway,^ and burn my 
House !^ Eor shame! Hide your Eace and hold your 
Tongue. If you continue this Conduct, you will make 
yourself the Contempt of Europe ! 

Britain, O Lord! Where are my friends? 

France, Spain, Holland, and Saxony, all together. 
Friends! Believe us, you have none, nor ever will have 
any, 'till you mend your Manners. How can we, who are 
your Neighbours, have any regard for you, or expect any 
Equity from you, should your Power increase, when we 
see how basely and unjustly you have us'd both your own 
Mother and your own Children? [1777.] 

^ Prussians. 

^They enter'd and rais'd Contributions in Saxony. 
* And they burnt the fine Suburbs of Dresden, the Capital of 
Saxony. 



128 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 



A MADAME HELYETIUS 

Chagrine de votre resolution barbare, prononcee si pos- 
itivement hier au soir, de rester seule pendant la vie en 
honneur de votre cher mari, je me retirois chez moi, tom- 
bois snr mon lit, me croyois mort, et que je me trouvois 
dans les Champs-Elisees. 

On me demanda si j'avois envie de voir quelques per- 
sonnages particuliers. "Menez-moi chez les philosophes.'^ 
^^11 y en a deux qui demeurent ici pres dans ce jardin; ils 
sont de tres-bons voisins, et tres-amis Fun de Tautre." 
^^Qui sont-ils?" ^^Socrate et Helvetius.'^ "Je les estime 
prodigieusement tous les deux ; mais f aites-moi voir prem- 
ierement Helvetius, parce que j^entends un peu de Eran- 
gois et pas un mot de Grec/' — II m'a recu avec beaucoup 
de courtoisie, m'ayant connu, disoit-il, de reputation il y 
avoit quelque temps. II me demanda mille cboses sur la 
guerre, et sur I'etat present de la religion, de la liberte, et 
du gouvernement en France. "Yous ne demandez done 
rien/' lui dis-je, "de votre chere amie Madame Helvetius; 
et cependant elle vous aime encore excessivement, et il n'y 
a qu'une heure que j'etois cbez elle.'' "Ah!" dit-il, "vous 
me faites ressouvenir de mon ancienne felicite. Mais il 
faut Toublier pour etre heureux ici. Pendant plusieurs 
des premieres annees, je n'ai pense qu'a elle. Enfin je 
suis console. J'ai pris une autre f emme ; la plus semblable 
a elle que j'ai pu trouver. Elle n'est pas, il est vrai, tout- 
a-fait si belle, mais elle a autant de bon sens, beaucoup 
d'esprit, et elle m'aime infiniment. Son etude continuelle 
est de me plaire, et elle est sortie actuellement chercher le 
meilleur nectar et ambroisie pour me regaler ce soir; res- 
tez avec moi et vous la verrez.'' "J'appergois," dis-je, 
"que votre ancienne amie est plus fidelle que vous; car 
plusieurs bons partis lui ont ete offerts qu'elle a refuses 
tous! Je vous confesse que je Fai aimee, moi, a la folie; 
mais elle etoit dure a mon egard, et m'a rejete absolument 
pour I'amour de vous.'' "Je vous plains," dit-il, "de votre 
malheur ; car vraiment c'est une bonne et belle femme, et 
bien aimable. Mais I'Abbe de la K * * * -^ et TAbbe 
M * * * "^ ne sont-ils pas encore quelquefois chez elle?" 
"Oui assurement; car elle n'a pas perdu un seul de vos 
amis." "Si vous aviez gagne I'Abbe ]\I -J^- * * * (avec du 



THE EPHEMEEA 129 

bon cafe a la creme) a parler pour vous, vous auriez peut- 
etre reussi; car il est raisonneur subtil comme Duns Sco- 
tus ou St. Thomas; il met ses arguments en si bon ordre 
qu'ils deviennent presque irresistibles. Et si TAbbe de la 
E ^ * ^ ^ avoit ete gagne (par quelque belle edition d'un 
vieux classique) a parler contre vous, cela auroit ete 
mieux ; car j'ai toujours observe, que quand il lui conseilla 
quelque chose, elle avoit un penchant tres-fort a faire le 
revers/' A ces mots entra la nouvelle Madame Helvetius 
avec le nectar; a Finstant je Tai reconnue pour etre Ma- 
dame Franklin, mon ancienne amie Americaine. Je Fai 
reclamee, mais elle me dit froidement; "J'ai ete votre 
bonne f emme quarante-neuf annees et quatre mois ; — 
presqu'un demi-siecle; soyez content de cela. J'ai forme 
ici une nouvelle connexion, qui durera a Teternite." 

Indigne de ce refus de mon Eurydice, je pris de suite la 
resolution de quitter ces ombres ingrates, et revenir en ce 
bon monde, revoir le soleil et vous. — Me voici ! — Ven- 
g eons-nous! [1778.] 

THE EPHEMEEA 

An Emblenfh of Human Life 

You may remember, my dear friend, that when we lately 
spent that happy day in the delightful garden and sweet 
society of the Moulin Joly, I stopt a little in one of our 
walks, and staid some time behind the company. We had 
been shown numberless skeletons of a kind of little fly, 
called an ephemera, whose successive generations, we were 
told, were bred and expired within the day. I happened to 
see a living company of them on a leaf, who appeared to 
be engaged in conversation. You know I understand all 
the inferior animal tongues : my too great application of 
the study of them is the best excuse I can give for the 
little progress I have made in your charming language. I 
listened through curiosity to the discourse of these little 
creatures; but as they, in their national vivacity, spoke 
three or four together, I could make but little of their con- 
versation. I found, however, by some broken expressions 
that I heard now and then, they were disputing warmly on 
the merits of two foreign musicians, one a cousin, the 
other a moscheto; in which dispute they spent their time. 



130 BENJAMII^ rEAJSTKLIN 

seemingly as regardless of the shortness of life as if they 
had been sure of living a month. Happy people ! thought 
I, you live certainly under a wise, just, and mild govern- 
ment, since you have no public grievances to complain of, 
nor any subject of contention but the perfections and im- 
perfections of foreign music. I turned my head from 
them to an old grey-headed one, who was single on another 
leaf, and talking to himself. Being amused with his solil- 
oquy, I put it down in writing, in hopes it will likewise 
amuse her to whom I am so much indebted for the most 
pleasing of all amusements, her delicious company and 
heavenly harmony. 

"It was," said he, "the opinion of learned philosophers 
of our race, who lived and flourished long before my time, 
that this vast world, the Moulin Joly, could not itself sub- 
sist more than eighteen hours; and I think there was 
sorae foundation for that opinion, since, by the apparent 
motion of the great luminary that gives life to all nature, 
and which in my time has evidently declined considerably 
towards the ocean at the end of our earth, it must then 
finish its course, be extinguished in the waters that sur- 
round us, and leave the world in cold and darkness, nec- 
essarily producing universal death and destruction. I 
have lived seven of those hours, a great age, being no less 
than four hundred and twenty minutes of time. How 
very few of us continue so long! I have seen generations 
born, flourish, and expire. My present friends are the 
children and grandchildren of the friends of my youth, 
who are now, alas, no more! And I must soon follow 
them ; for, by the course of nature, though still in health, 
I cannot expect to live above seven or eight minutes 
longer. What now avails all my toil and labor, in amass- 
ing honey-dew on this leaf, which I cannot live to enjoy! 
What the political struggles I have been engaged in, for 
the good of my compatriot inhabitants of this bush, or my 
philosophical studies for the benefit of our race in general! 
for, in politics, what can laws do without morals? Our 
present race of ephemerae will in a course of minutes be- 
come corrupt, like those of other and older bushes, and 
consequently as wretched. And in philosophy how small 
our progress! Alas! art is long, and life is short! My 
friends would comfort me with the idea of a name, they 
say, I shall leave behind me ; and they tell me I have lived 



MOEALS OF CHESS 131 

long enougli to nature and to glory. But what will fame 
be to an ephemera who no longer exists ? And what will 
become of all history in the eighteenth hour, when the 
world itself, even the whole Moulin Joly, shall come to its 
end, and be buried in universal ruin ?" 

To me, after all my eager pursuits, no solid pleasures 
now remain, but the reflection of a long life spent in mean- 
ing well, the sensible conversation of a few good lady 
ephemerae, and now and then a kind smile and a tune from 
the ever amiable Brillante. B. Franklin. 

[1778.] 

MOEALS OF CHESS 

[Playing at chess is the most ancient and most univer- 
sal game known among men ; for its original is beyond the 
memory of history, and it has, for numberless ages, been 
the amusement of all the civilised nations of Asia, the 
Persians, the Indians, and the Chinese. Europe has had 
it above a thousand years; the Spaniards have spread it 
over their part of America; and it has lately begun to 
make its appearance in the United States. It is so inter- 
esting in itself, as not to need the view of gain to induce 
engaging in it; and thence it is seldom played for money. 
Those therefore who have leisure for such diversions, can- 
not find one that is more innocent: and the following 
piece, written with a view to correct (among a few young 
friends) some little improprieties in the practice of it, 
shows at the same time that it may, in its effects on the 
mind, be not merely innocent, but advantageous, to the 
vanquished as well as the victor.] 

The Game of Chess is not merely an idle Amusement. 
Several very valuable qualities of the Mind, useful in the 
course of human Life, are to be acquirM or strengthened 
by it, so as to become habits, ready on all occasions. For 
Life is a kind of Chess, in which we often have Points to 
gain, & Competitors or Adversaries to contend with; and 
in which there is a vast variety of good and ill Events, that 
are in some degree the Effects of Prudence or the want of 
it. By playing at Chess, then, we may learn, 

I. Foresight, which looks a little into futurity, and 



132 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

considers the Consequences that may attend an action ; for 
it is continually occurring to the Player, '^li I move this 
piece, what will be the advantages or disadvantages of my 
new situation? What Use can my Adversary make of it 
to annoy me? What other moves can I make to support 
it, and to defend myself from his attacks ?" 

II. Circumspection, which surveys the whole Chess- 
board, or scene of action; the relations of the several 
pieces and situations, the Dangers they are respectively 
exposed to, the several possibilities of their aiding each 
other, the probabilities that the Adversary may make this 
or that move, and attack this or the other Piece, and what 
different Means can be used to avoid his stroke, or turn its 
consequences against him. 

III. Caution, not to make our moves too hastily. This 
habit is best acquired, by observing strictly the laws of 
the Game; such as. If you touch a Piece, you must move it 
somewhere; if you set it down, you must let it stand. And 
it is therefore best that these rules should be observed, as 
the Game becomes thereby more the image of human Life, 
and particularly of War; in which, if you have incau- 
tiously put yourself into a bad and dangerous position, you 
cannot obtain your Enemy's Leave to withdraw your 
Troops, and place them more securely, but you must abide 
all the consequences of your rashness. 

And lastly, we learn by Chess the habit of not being 
discouraged by present appearances in the state of our 
affairs, the habit of hoping for a favourable Change, and 
that of persevering in the search of resources. The Game 
is so full of Events, there is such a variety of turns in it, 
the Fortune of it is so subject to sudden Vicissitudes, and 
one so frequently, after long contemplation, discovers the 
means of extricating one's self from a supposed insur- 
mountable Difficulty, that one is encouraged to continue 
the Contest to the last, in hopes of Victory from our own 
skill, or at least from the Negligence of our Adversary. 
And whoever considers, what in Chess he often sees in- 
stances of, that success is apt to produce Presumption, & 
its consequent Inattention, by which more is afterwards 
lost than was gain'd by the preceding Advantage, while 
misfortunes produce more care and attention, by which the 
loss may be recovered, will learn not to be too much dis- 
couraged by any present success of his Adversary, nor to 



MORALS OF CHESS 133 

despair of final good fortune upon every little Check he 
receives in the pursuit of it. 

That we may therefore be induced more frequently to 
chuse this beneficial amusement, in preference to others 
which are not attended with the same advantages, every 
Circumstance that may increase the pleasure of it should 
be regarded; and every action or word that is unfair, dis- 
respecttul or that m any way may give uneasiness, should 
be avoided, as contrary to the immediate intention of both 
the flayers, which is to pass the Time agreeably 

Therefore, first, if it is agreed to play according to the 
strict rules, then those rules are to be exactly observed by 
both parties, and should not be insisted on for one side 
while deviated from by the other — for this is not equit- 

Secondly, if it is agreed not to observe the rules exactly 
but one party demands indulgencies, he should then be as 
willing to allow them to the other. 

Thirdly, no false move should ever be made to extricate 
yourself out of difficulty, or to gain an advantage. There 
can be no pleasure m playing with a person once detected 
m such unfair practice. 

Fourthly, if your adversary is long in playing, you ought 
not to hurry him, or express any uneasiness at his delay 
You should not sing, nor whistle, nor look at your watch 
nor take up a book to read, nor make a tapping with your 
leet on the floor, or with your fingers on the table, nor do 
any thing that may disturb his attention. For all these 
things displease; and they do not show your skill in play- 
ing, but your craftiness or your rudeness. 

Fifthly, you ought not to endeavour to amuse and de- 
ceive your adversary, by pretending to have made bad 
moves, and saying that you have now lost the game in 
order to make him secure and careless, and inattentive to 
your schemes : for this is fraud and deceit, not skill in the 
game. 

Sixthly, you must not, when you have gained a victory, 
use any triumphing or insulting expression, nor show too 
much pleasure; but endeavour to console vour adversary 
and make him less dissatisfied with himself, by every kind 
ol civil expression that may be used with truth, such as 
you understand the game better than I, but you are a 
little inattentive;'' or, ^^you play too fast;'' or, "you had 



134 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

the best of tlie game, but something happened to divert 
your thoughts, and that turned it in my favour." 

Seventhly, if you are a spectator while others play, ob- 
serve the most perfect silence. For, if you give advice, 
you offend both parties, him against whom you give it, be- 
cause it may cause the loss of his game, him in whose fa- 
vour you give it, because, though it be good, and he follows 
it, he loses the pleasure he might have had, if you had 
permitted him to think until it had occurred to himself. 
Even after a move or moves, you must not, by replacing 
the pieces, show how they might have been placed better; 
for that displeases, and may occasion disputes and doubts 
about their true situation. All talking to the players les- 
sens or diverts their attention, and is therefore unpleasing. 
Nor should you give the least hint to either party, by any 
kind of noise or motion. If you do, you are unworthy to 
be a spectator. If you have a mind to exercise or show 
your judgment, do it in playing your own game, when 
you have an opportunity, not in criticizing, or meddling 
with, or counselling the play of others. 

Lastly, if the game is not to be played rigorously, ac- 
cording to the rules above mentioned, then moderate your 
desire of victory over your adversary, and be pleased with 
one over yourself. Snatch not eagerly at every advantage 
offered by his unskilfulness or inattention; but point out 
to him kindly, that by such a move he places or leaves a 
piece in danger and unsupported; that by another he will 
put his king in a perilous situation, &c. By this generous 
civility (so opposite to the unfairness above forbidden) 
you may, indeed, happen to lose the game to your oppo- 
nent; but you will win what is better, his esteem, his re- 
spect, and his affection, together with the silent approba- 
tion and good-will of impartial spectators. [1779.] 



THE WHISTLE 

TO MADAME BRILLON 

Passy, November 10, 1779. 

I received my dear friend's two letters, one for Wednes- 
day and one for Saturday. This is again Wednesday. I 
do not deserve one for to-day, because I have not answered 



THE WHISTLE 135 

the former. But, iiidolent as I am, and averse to writing, 
the fear of having no more of your pleasing epistles, if I 
do not contribute to the correspondence, obliges me to take 
up my pen; and as Mr. B. has kindly sent me word, that 
he sets out to-morrow to see you, instead of spending this 
Wednesday evening as I have done its namesakes, in your 
delightful company, I sit down to spend it in thinking of 
you, in writing to you, and in reading over and over again 
your letters. 

I am charmed with your description of Paradise, and 
with your plan of living there; and I approve much of 
your conclusion, that, in the mean time, we should draw 
all the good we can from this world. In my opinion, we 
might all draw more good from it than we do, and suffer 
less evil, if we would take care not to give too much for 
whistles. For to me it seems, that most of the unhappy 
people we meet with, are become so by neglect of that 
caution. 

You ask what I mean? Tou love stories, and will ex- 
cuse my telling one of myself. 

When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, on 
a holiday, filled my pocket with coppers. I went directly 
to a shop where they sold toys for children; and, being 
charmed with the sound of a whistle, that I met by the 
way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and 
gave all my money for one. I then came home, and went 
whistling all over the house, much pleased with my 
whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers, and 
sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had 
made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it 
was worth ; put me in mind what good things I might have 
bought with the rest of the money; and laughed at me so 
much for my folly, that I cried with vexation ; and the re- 
flection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me 
pleasure. 

This however was afterwards of use to me, the impres- 
sion continuing in my mind; so that often, when I was 
tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, 
Dont give too much for the whistle; and I saved my 
money. 

As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the ac- 
tions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who 
gave too much for the whistle. 



136 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

When I saw one too ambitious of court favour, sacrific- 
ing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, 
his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I have said 
to myself. This man gives too much for his whistle. 

When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly em- 
ploying himself in political bustles, neglecting his own 
affairs, and ruining them by that neglect. He pays, indeed, 
said I, too much for his whistle. 

If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfort- 
able living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all 
the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevo- 
lent friendship for the sake of accumulating wealth. Poor 
m^an, said I, you pay too much for your whistle. 

When I met with a man of pleasure, sacrificing every 
laudable improvement of the mind, or of his- fortune, to 
mere corporeal sensations, and ruining his health in their 
pursuit, MistaTcen man, said I, you are providing pain for 
yourself, instead of pleasure; you give too much for your 
whistle. 

If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine 
houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, 
for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in a 
prison, Alas! say I, he has paid dear, very dear, for his 
whistle. 

When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married to 
an ill-natured brute of a husband, What a pity, say I, that 
she should pay so much for a whistle! 

In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries of 
miankind are brought upon them by the false estimates 
they have made of the value of things, and by their giving 
too much for their whistles. 

Yet I ought to have charity for these unhappy people, 
when I consider, that, with all this wisdom of which I 
am boasting, there are certain things in the world so 
tempting, for example, the apples of King John, which 
happily are not to be bought ; for if they were put to sale 
by auction, I might very easily be led to ruin myself in 
the purchase, and find that I had once more given too 
much for the whistle. 

Adieu, my dear friend, and believe me ever yours very 
sincerely and with unalterable affection, 

B. Franklin. 
[1779.] 



THE LOKD'S PKAYER 137 



THE LOED'S PEATEK 

Old Version 

1. Our Father which art in Heaven, 

2. Hallowed be thy Name. 

3. Thy Kingdom come. 

4. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. 

5. Give us this Day our daily Bread. 

6. Forgive us our Debts as we forgive our Debtors. 

And lead us not into Temptation, but deliver us from 
Evil. 

New Yersion by B. F. 

1. Heavenly Father, 

2. May all revere thee, 

3. And become thy dutiful Children and faithful Sub- 

jects. 

4. May thy Laws be obeyed on Earth as perfectly as they 

are in Heaven. 

5. Provide for us this Day as thou hast hitherto daily 

done. 

6. Forgive us our Trespasses and enable us likewise to 

forgive those that offend us. 
7.. Keep us out of Temptation, and deliver us from 
Evil.— 

Reasons for the Change of Expression 

Old Version. Our Father which art in Heaven. 

New V. — Heavenly Father, is more concise, equally ex- 
pressive, and better modern English. — 

Old V. — Hallowed he thy Name. This seems to relate to 
an Observance among the Jews not to pronounce the 
proper or peculiar Name of God, they deeming it a 
Profanation so to do. We have in our Language no 
proper Name for God; the Word God being a common 
or general Name, expressing all chief Objects of Wor- 
ship, true or false. The Word hallowed is almost obso- 
lete. People now have but an imperfect Conception of 
the Meaning of the Petition. It is therefore proposed 
to change the expression into 

New V. — May all revere thee. 



138 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

Old V. — Thy Kingdom come. This Petition seems suited 
to the then Condition of the Jewish Nation. Originally 
their State was a Theocracy. God was their King. 
Dissatisfied with that kind of Government, they desired 
a visible earthly King in the manner of the Nations 
round them. They had such Kings accordingly; but 
their Offerings were due to God on many Occasions by 
the Jewish Law, which when People could not pay, or 
had forgotten as Debtors are apt to do, it was proper to 
pray that those Debts might be forgiven. Our Liturgy 
uses neither the Debtors of Matthew, nor the indebted 
of Luke, but instead of them speaks of those that tres- 
pass against us. Perhaps the Considering it as a Chris- 
tian Duty to forgive Debtors, was by the Compilers 
thought an inconvenient Idea in a trading Nation. — 
There seems however something presumptuous in this 
Mode of Expression, which has the Air of proposing our- 
selves as an Example of Goodness fit for God to imitate. 
We hope you will at least he as good as we are; you see 
we forgive one another, and therefore we pray that you 
would forgive us. Some have considered it in another 
sense, Forgive us as we forgive others; i.e. If we do not 
forgive others we pray that thou wouldst not forgive us. 
But this being a kind of conditional Imprecation against 
ourselves, seems improper in such a Prayer; and there- 
fore it may be better to say humbly & modestly 

New V. — Forgive us our Trespasses, and enahle us lUce- 
wise to forgive those that offend us. This instead of 
assuming that we have already in & of ourselves the 
Grace of Forgiveness, acknowledges our Dependance on 
God, the Fountain of Mercy for any Share we may have 
in it, praying that he would communicate of it to us. — 

Old V. — And lead us not into Temptation. The Jews had 
a Notion, that God sometimes tempted, or directed or 
permitted the Tempting of People. Thus it was said he 
tempted Pharaoh; directed Satan to tempt Job; and a 
false Prophet to tempt Ahab, &c. Under this Persua- 
sion it was natural for them to pray that he would not 
put them to such severe Trials. We now suppose that 
Temptation, so far as it is supernatural, comes from the 
Devil only, and this Petition continued conveys a Suspi- 
cion which in our present Conception seems unworthy of 
God, therefore might be altered to 



THE LEVEE 13d 

New V. — Kee'p us out of Temptation, Happiness was not 
increased by the Change, and they had reason to wish 
and pray for a Return of the Theocracy, or Government 
of God. Christians in these Times have other Ideas 
when they speak of the Kingdom of God, such as are 
perhaps more adequately expressed by 

New Y. — And hecome thy dutiful Children & faithful 
Subjects. 

Old Y. — Thy Will he done on Earth as it is in Heaven. 

New Y. — May thy Laws he oheyed on Earth as perfectly as 
they are in Heaven, 

Old Y. — Give us this Day our daily Bread. Give us what 
is ours^ seems to put us in a Claim of Eight, and to 
contain too little of the grateful Acknowledgment and 
Sense of Dependance that becomes Creatures who live 
on the daily Bounty of their Creator. Therefore it is 
changed to 

New Y. — Provide for us this Day, as thou hast hitherto 
daily done. 

Old Y. — Forgive us our Dehts as we forgive our Dehtors, 
Matthew. 

Forgive us our Sins, for we also forgive every one 
that is indehted to us, Luke. 

[17T9 ?] 

THE LEYEE 

In the first chapter of Job we have an account of a 
transaction said to have arisen in the court, or at the levee, 
of the best of all possible princes, or of governments by a 
single person, viz. that of God himself. 

At this levee, in which the sons of God were assembled, 
Satan also appeared. 

' It is probable the writer of that ancient book took his 
idea of this levee from those of the eastern monarchs of 
the age he lived in. 

It is to this day usual at the levees of princes, to have 
persons assembled who are enemies to each other, who seek 
to obtain favor by whispering calumny and detraction, 
and thereby ruining those that distinguish themselves by 
their virtue and merit. And kings frequently ask a fa- 
miliar question or two, of every one in the circle, merely 
to show their benignity. These circumstances are partic- 
ularly exemplified in this relation. 



[40 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

If a modern king, for instance, finds a person in tlie 
circle who has not lately been there, he naturally asks him 
how he has passed his time since he last had the pleasure 
of seeing him? the gentleman perhaps replies that he has 
been in the country to view his estates, and visit some 
friends. Thus Satan being asked whence he cometh? an- 
swers, ^Trom going to and fro in the earth, and walking 
up and down in it.'' And being further asked, whether he 
had considered the uprightness and fidelity of the prince's 
servant Job, he immediately displays all the malignance of 
the designing courtier, by answering with another ques- 
tion: "Doth Job serve God for naught? Hast thou not 
given him immense wealth, and protected him in the pos- 
session of it ? Deprive him of that, and he will curse thee 
to thy face." In modern phrase, "Take away his places 
and his pensions, and your Majesty will soon find him in 
the opposition. 

This whisper against Job had its effect. He was deliv- 
ered into the power of his adversary, who deprived him of 
his fortune, destroyed his family, and completely ruined 
him. 

The book of Job is called by divines a sacred poem, and, 
with the rest of the Holy Scriptures, is understood to be 
written for our instruction. 

What then is the instruction to be gathered from this 
supposed transaction? 

Trust not a single person with the government of your 
state. For if the Deity himself, being the monarch may 
for a time give way to calumny, and suffer it to operate 
the destruction of the best of subjects ; what mischief may 
you not expect from such power in a mere man, though the 
best of men, from whom the truth is often industriously 
hidden, and to whom falsehood is often presented in its 
place, by artful, interested, and malicious courtiers ? 

And be cautious in trusting him even with limited pow- 
ers, lest sooner or later he sap and destroy those limits, and 
render himself absolute. 

For by the disposal of places, he attaches to himself all 
the placeholders, with their numerous connexions, and also 
all the expecters and hopers of places, which will form a 
strong party in promoting his views. By various political 
engagements for the interest of neighbouring states or 
princes, he procures their aid in establishing his own per- 



PROPOSED NEW VEESION" OF THE BIBLE 141 

sonal power. So that, tlirougli tlie liopes of emolument in 
one part of his subjects, and the fear of his resentment in 
the other, all opposition falls before him. [1Y79?] 

PEOPOSED NEW VERSION OF THE BIBLE 

To THE Printer of *** 
Sir, 

It IS now more than one hundred and seventy years since 
the translation of our common English Bible. The lan- 
guage in that time is much changed, and the style, being 
obsolete, and thence less agreeable, is perhaps one reason 
why the reading of that excellent book is of late so much 
neglected. I have therefore thought it would be well to 
procure a new version, in which, preserving the sense, the 
turn of phrase and manner of expression should be mod- 
ern. I do not pretend to have the necessary abilities for 
such a work myself ; I throw out the hint for the consider- 
ation of the learned; and only venture to send you a few 
verses of the first chapter of Job, which may serve as a 
sample of the kind of version I would recommend. 

A. B. 

PART OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF JOB MODERNIZED 

Old Text New Version 

Verse 6. Now there was a Verse 6. And it being levee 
day when the sons of God day in heaven, all God's no- 
came to present themselves bility came to court, to pre- 
before the Lord, and Satan sent themselves before him; 
came also amongst them. and Satan also appeared in 

the circle, as one of the min- 
istry. 

7. And the Lord said unto 7. And God said to Satan, 
Satan, Whence comest thou? You have been some time ab- 
Then Satan answered the sent; where were you? And 
Lord, and said, From going Satan answered I have been 
to and fro in the earth, and at my country-seat, and in 
from walking up and down different places visiting my 
in it. friends. 

8. And the Lord said unto 8. And God said. Well, 
Satan, Hast thou considered what think you of Lord Job? 
my servant Job, that there is You see he is my best friend, 
none like him in the earth, a a perfectly honest man, full 
perfect and an upright man, of respect for me, and avoid- 



142 



BENJAIVHN" FKANKLIN 



one that feareth God, and 
esdieweth evil? 

9. Then Satan answered the 
Lord, and said, Doth Job fear 
God for naught? 



10. Hast thou not made an 
hedge about his house, and 
about all that he hath on 
every side? Thou hast blessed 
the work of his hands, and 
his substance is increased in 
the land. 

11. But put forth thine 
hand now, and touch all that 
he hath, and he will curse 
thee to thy face. 



ing every thing that might of- 
fend me. 

9. And Satan answered. 
Does your Majesty imagine 
that his good conduct is the 
effect of mere personal at- 
tachment and affection ? 

10. Have you not protect- 
ed him, and heaped your ben- 
efits upon him, till he is 
grown enormously rich? 



11. Try him; — only with- 
draw your favor, turn him 
out of his places, and with-, 
hold his pensions, and you 
will soon find him in the op- 
position. 

[1779 ?] 



A MONSIEUE L'ABBE DE LA EOCHE, A AUTETJLt 

J'ai parcouru, mon cher ami, le petit livre de poesies de 
M. Helvetius, dont vous m'avez fait cadeau. Le poeme sur 
le Bonheur m'a donne beaucoup de plaisir, et m'a fait res- 
souvenir d'une petite chanson a boire, que j'ai faite il y a 
quarante ans sur le meme sujet, et qui avoit a-peu-pres le 
meme plan, et plusieurs des memes pensees, mais bien 
densement exprimees. La voici. 

Singer 

Fair Yenus calls; her voice obey, 
In beauty's arms spend night and day. 
The joys of love all joys excel, 
And ioving's certainly doing well. 

Chorum 

Oh! no! 

Not so! 

For- honest souls know, 

Friends and a bottle still bear the bell. 

Singer 

Then let us get money, like bees lay up honey; 
We'll build us new hives, and store each cell. 



A M0:N'SIEUK L'ABBE DE la EOCHE 143 

The sight of our treasure shall yield us great pleasure; 
We'll count it, and chink it, and jingle it well. 

Chorusf 
Oh! no! 
Not so! 

For honest souls know, 
Friends and a bottle still bear the bell, 

Singer 

If this does not fit ye, let's govern the city, 

In power is pleasure no tongue can tell; 

By crowds though you're teased, your pride shall be pleased. 

And this can make Lucifer happy in hell ! 

Chorus 
Oh! no! 
Not so! 

For honest souls know, 
Friends and a bottle still bear the bell. 

Singer 

Then toss off your glasses, and scorn the dull asses. 
Who, missing the kernel, still gnaw the shell; 
What's love, rule, or riches? Wise Solomon teaches. 
They're vanity, vanity, vanity still. 

Chorus 
That's true; 
He knew; 

He'd tried them all through; 
Friends and a bottle still bore the bell. 

C'est "un chanteur, mon cher Abbe, qui exborte ses com* 
pagnons de chercher le honheur dans Vamour, dans le^ 
richesses et dans le pouvoir, lis repliquent, chantant en^ 
semble, que le honheur ne se trouve pas en aucunes de ce^ 
cboses, et qu'on ne le trouve que dans les amis et le vin. A 
cette position, le chanteur enfin consent. La phrase "hear 
the hell," signifie en Frangois remporter le prix. 

J'ai souvent remarque, en lisant les ouvrages de M. 
Helvetius, que quoique nous etions nes et eleves dans deux 
pays si eloignes Tun de Fautre, nous nous sommes rencon- 
tres souvent dans les memes pensees ; et c'est une reflexion 
bien flatteuse pour moi, que nous avons aime les memes 



144 BENJAMIH FEANKLIN 

etudes, et autant que nous les avions eonnus, les memos 
amis, et la meme femme. 

Adieu! mon clier ami, &e. B. F. 

[1779 ?] 

A MONSIETJE L'ABBE MOEELLET 

Passy, le * * *. 

Vous m'avez souvent egaye, mon tres-cher ami, par vos 
excellentes chansons a boire; en echange, je desire vous 
edifier par quelques reflexions Chretiennes, morales et 
philosophiques, sur le meme sujet. 

In vino Veritas, dit le sage. La verite est dans le vin. 
Avant Noe done, les hommes, n' ay ant que de I'eau a boire, 
ne pouvoient pas trouver la verite. Ainsi ils s'egarerent, 
ils devinrent abominablement mechants, et ils furent 
justement extermines par Veau qu'ils aimoient a boire. 

Ce bon-homme Noe, ayant vu que par cette mauvaise 
boisson tons ses contemporains avoient peri, le prit en 
aversion ; et Dieu, pour le desalterer, crea la vigne, et lui 
revela Tart d'en faire du vin. Par I'aide de cette liqueur, 
il decouvrit maintes et maintes verites; et depuis son 
temps, le mot "det^tTier'^ a ete en usage, signifiant origi- 
nairement decouvrir par le moyen du vin. Ainsi le patri- 
arcbe Joseph pretendoit deviner au moyen d'une coupe ou 
verre de vin ; ^ liqueur qui a recu ce nom pour marquer 
qu'elle n'etoit pas une invention humaine, mais dii;me; 
(autre preuve de I'antiquite de la langue Frangoise, contre 
M. Gebelin). Aussi, depuis ce temps, toutes les choses ex- 
cellentes, meme les Deites, ont ete appelees divines ou 
dit^mites. 

On parle de la conversion de I'eau en vin, a la noce de 
Cana, comme d'un miracle. Mais cette conversion est 
faite tons les jours, par la bonte de Dieu, sous nos yeux. 
Voila I'eau qui tombe des cieux sur nos vignobles, et alors 
elle entre dans les racines des vignes pour etre changee en 
vin ; preuve constante que Dieu nous aime, et qu'il aime a 
nous voir heureux. Le miracle particulier a ete fait seule- 
ment pour hater I'operation, dans une circonstance de be- 
soin soudain, qui le demandoit. 

^ L'orateur Romain, qui est bien connu par ses mauvaises 
poesies, d'etre un huveur d'eau, confesses franchement, dans son 
livre De Diyi^atione, qu'il ne savoit pas deviner, "Quid futurum 
mt non diviNo/' 



A MONSIETJE L'ABBE MOEELLET 145 

II est vrai que Dieu a aussi instruit les hommes a re- 
duire le vin en eau. Mais quelle espece d'eau? C'est 
Veau-de-Yie, Et cela, afin que par-la ils puissent, au be- 
soin, faire le miracle de Cana, et convertir Teau ordinaire 
en cette espece excellente de vin, qu'on appelle punch! 

Mon frere Chretien, soyez bienveillant et bienfaisant 
comme lui, et ne gatez pas son bon ouvrage. II a fait le 
vin pour nous rejouir. Quand vous voyez votre voisin a 
table verser du vin dans son verre, ne vous batez pas a j 
verser de Teau. Pourquoi voulez-vous noyer la veritef II 
est vraisemblable que votre voisin sait mieux que vous ce 
qui lui convient. Peut-etre il n'aime pas Teau; peut-etre 
il ne veut mettre que quelques gouttes, par complaisance 
pour la mode; peut-etre il ne veut pas qu'un autre observe 
combien peu il en met dans son verre. Done, n'offrez Feau 
qu'aux enfans; c'est une fausse politesse, et bien incom- 
mode. Je vous dis ceci comme homme du monde ; et je fini- 
rai, comme j'ai commence, en bon Chretien, en vous faisant 
une observation religieuse bien imjjortante, et tiree de 
FEcriture Sainte; savoir que Fapotre Paul conseilloit bien 
serieusement a Timothe de mettre du vin dans son eau 
pour la sante ; mais que pas un des apotres, ni aucuns des 
saints peres, n'ont jamais conseille de mettre de Veau dans 
le vin! B. F. 

P. S. Pour vous confirmer encore plus dans votre piete 
et reconnoissance a la Providence Divine, reflechissez sur 
la situation qu'elle a donnee au coude, Vous voyez aussi 
que les animaux qui doivent boire Feau qui coule sur la 
terre, s'ils ont des jambes longues, ont aussi un cou long, 
afin qu'ils puissent atteindre leur boisson sans la peine de 
se mettre a genoux. Mais Fhomme, qui etoit destine a 
boire du vin, doit etre en etat de porter le verre a sa 
bouche. Si le coude avoit ete place plus pres de la main, 
la partie d'avant auroit ete trop courte pour approcher le 
verre de la bouche; et s'il avoit ete place plus pres de 
Fepaule, le partie seroit si longue qu'il porteroit le verre 
au-dela de la tete. Ainsi nous aurions ete tantalises, 
Mais par la presente situation du coude nous sommes en 
etat de boire a notre aise; le verre venant justement a la 
bouche. — Adorons done, le verre a la main, cette sagesse 
bienveillante ! Adorons, et buvonsi [1779.] 



146 BENJAMIlSr FKANEXIN 



DIALOGUE BETWEEN FEANKLIN AND THE 

GOUT 

Midnight, October 22, 1780. 

Franklin. Eh ! Oh ! Eh ! What have I done to merit 
these cruel sufferings? 

Gout. Many things; you have ate and drank too 
freely, and too much indulged those legs of yours in their 
indolence. 

Franklin. Who is it that accuses me ? 

Gout. It is I, even I, the Gout. 

Franklin. What! my enemy in person? 

Gout. No, not your enemy. 

Franklin. I repeat it; my enemy; for you would not 
only torment my body to death, but ruin my good name; 
you reproach me as a glutton and a tippler; now all the 
world, that knows me, will allow that I am neither the one 
nor the other. 

Gout. The world may think as it pleases; it is always 
very complaisant to itself, and sometimes to its friends; 
but I very well know that the quantity of meat and drink 
proper for a man, who takes a reasonable degree of exer- 
cise, would be too much for another, who never takes any. 

Franklin. I take — Eh! Oh! — as much exercise — Eh! 
— as I can. Madam Gout. You know my sedentary state, 
and on that account, it would seem. Madam Gout, as if 
you might spare me a little, seeing it is not altogether my 
own fault. 

Gout. Not a jot; your rhetoric and your politeness are 
thrown away; your apology avails nothing. If your situ- 
ation in life is a sedentary one, your amusements, your 
recreations, at least, should be active. You ought to walk 
or ride; or, if the weather prevents that play at billiards. 
But let us examine your course of life. While the morn- 
ings are long, and you have leisure to go abroad, what do 
you do? Why, instead of gaining an appetite for break- 
fast, by salutary exercise, you amuse yourself, with books, 
pamphlets, or newspapers, which commonly are not worth 
the reading. Yet you eat an inordinate breakfast, four 
dishes of tea, with cream, and one or two buttered toasts, 
with slices of hung beef, which I fancy are not things the 
most easily digested, Immediately afterward you sit down 



A DIALOGUE 14T 

to write at your desk, or converse with persons who apply 
to you on business. Thus the time passes till one, without 
any kind of bodily exercise. But all this I could pardon, 
in regard, as you say, to your sedentary condition. But 
what is your practice after dinner ? Walking in the beau- 
tiful gardens of those friends, with whom you have dined, 
would be the choice of men of sense; yours is to be fixed 
down to chess, where you are found engaged for two or 
three hours! This is your perpetual recreation, which is 
the least eligible of any for a sedentary man, because, in- 
stead of accelerating the motion of the fluids, the rigid 
attention it requires helps to retard the circulation and ob- 
struct internal secretions. Wrapt in the speculations of 
this wretched game, you destroy your constitution. What 
can be expected from such a course of living, but a body 
replete with stagnant humours, ready to fall a prey to all 
kinds of dangerous maladies, if I, the Gout, did not occa- 
sionally bring you relief by agitating those humours, and 
so purifying or dissipating them ? If it was in some nook 
or alley in Paris, deprived of walks, that you played awhile 
at chess after dinner, this might be excusable; but the 
same taste prevails with you in Passy, Auteuil, Montmar- 
tre, or Sanoy, places where there are the finest gardens and 
walks, a pure air, beautiful women, and most agreeable 
and instructive conversation; all which you might enjoy 
by frequenting the walks. But these are rejected for this 
abominable game of chess. Fie, then, Mr. Franklin! But 
amidst my instructions, I had almost forgot to administer 
my wholesome corrections ; so take that twinge, — and that. 

Franklin. Oh! Eh! Oh! Ohhh! As much instruction 
as you please. Madam Gout, and as many reproaches; but 
pray. Madam, a truce with your corrections ! 

Gout. No, Sir, no, — I will not abate a particle of what 
is so much for your good, — therefore — 

Franklin. Oh ! Ehhh ! — It is not fair to say I take no 
exercise, when I do very often, going out to dine and re- 
turning in my carriage. 

Gout. That, of all imaginable exercises, is the most 
slight and insignificant, if you allude to the motion of a 
carriage suspended on springs. By observing the degree of 
heat obtained by different kinds of motion, we may form 
an estimate of the quantity of exercise given by each. 
Thus, for example, if you turn out to walk in winter with 



148 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

cold feet, in an hour's time you will be in a glow all over; 
ride on horseback, the same effect will scarcely be per- 
ceived by four hours' round trotting; but if you loll in a 
carriage, such as you have mentioned, you may travel all 
day, and gladly enter the last inn to warm your feet by a 
fire. Flatter yourself then no longer, that half an hour's 
airing in your carriage deserves the name of exercise. 
Providence has appointed few to roll in carriages, while he 
has given to all a pair of legs, which are machines in- 
finitely more commodious and serviceable. Be grateful, 
then, and make a proper use of yours. Would you know 
how they forward the circulation of your fluids, in the very 
action of transporting you from place to place; observe 
when you walk, that all your weight is alternately thrown 
from one leg to the other; this occasions a great pressure 
on the vessels of the foot, and repels their contents; when 
relieved, by the weight being thrown on the other foot, the 
vessels of the first are allowed to replenish, and, by a re- 
turn of this weight, this repulsion again succeeds ; thus ac- 
celerating the circulation of the blood. The heat produced 
in any given time, depends on the degree of this accelera- 
tion; the fluids are shaken, the humours attenuated, the 
secretions facilitated, and all goes well; the cheeks are 
ruddy, and health is established. Behold your fair friend 
at Auteuil, a lady who received from bounteous nature 
more really useful science, than half a dozen such pretend- 
ers to philosophy as you have been able to extract from all 
your books. When she honours you with a visit, it is on 
foot. She walks all hours of the day, and leaves indolence, 
and its concomitant maladies, to be endured by her horses. 
In this see at once the preservative of her health and per- 
sonal charms. But when you go to Auteuil, you must have 
your carriage, though it is no further from Passy to 
Auteuil than from Auteuil to Passy. 

Franklin. Your reasonings grow very tiresome. 

Gout. I stand corrected. I will be silent and continue 
my office ; take that, and that. 

Franklin. Oh ! Ohh ! Talk on, I pray you ! 

Gout. No, no; I have a good number of twinges for 
you to-night, and you may be sure of some more to-mor- 
row. 

Franklin. What, with such a fever! I shall go dis- 
tracted. Oh ! Eh ! Can no one bear it for me ? 



A DIALOGUE 149 

Gout. Ask that of your horses; they have served you 
faithfully. 

Franklin. How can you so cruelly sport with my tor- 
ments ? 

Gout. Sport ! I am very serious. I have here a list of 
offences against your own health distinctly written, and 
can justify every stroke inflicted on you. 

Franklin. Read it then. 

Gout. It is too long a detail ; but I will briefly mention 
some particulars. 

Franklin. Proceed. I am all attention. 

Gout. Do you remember how often you have promised 
yourself, the following morning, a walk in the grove of 
Boulogne, in the garden de la Muette, or in your own gar- 
den, and have violated your promise, alleging, at one time, 
it was too cold, at another too warm, too windy, too moist, 
or what else you pleased ; when in truth it was too nothing, 
but your insuperable love of ease ? 

Franklin. That I confess may have happened occa- 
sionally, probably ten times in a year. 

Gout. Your confession is very far short of the truth; 
the gross amount is one hundred and ninety-nine times. 

Franklin. Is it possible? 

Gout. So possible, that it is fact; you may rely on the 
accuracy of my statement. You know M. Brillon's gar- 
dens, and what fine walks they contain; you know the 
handsome flight of an hundred steps, which lead from the 
terrace above to the lawn below. You have been in the 
practice of visiting this amiable family twice a week, after 
dinner, and it is a maxim of your own, that '^a man may 
take as much exercise in walking a mile, up and down 
stairs, as in ten on level ground." What an opportunity 
was here for you to have had exercise in both these ways ! 
Did you embrace it, and how often ? 

Franklin. I cannot immediately answer that question. 

Gout. I will do it for you ; not once. 

Franklin. E'ot once? 

Gout. Even so. During the summer you went there at 
six o'clock. You found the charming lady, with her lovely 
children and friends, eager to walk with you, and enter- 
tain you with their agreeable conversation; and what has 
been your choice? Why to sit on the terrace, satisfying 
yourself with the fine prospect, and passing your eye over 



150 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

the beauties of the garden below, without taking one step 
to descend and walk about in them. On the contrary, you 
call for tea and the chess-board ; and lo ! you are occupied 
in your seat till nine o'clock, and that besides two hours' 
play after dinner; and then, instead of walking home, 
which would have bestirred you a little, you step into your 
carriage. How absurd to suppose that all this carelessness 
can be reconcilable with health, without my interposition ! 

Franklin. I am convinced now of the justness of poor 
Eichard's remark, that "Our debts and our sins are always 
greater than we think for." 

Gout. So it is. You philosophers are sages in your 
maxims, and fools in your conduct. 

Franklin. But do you charge among my crimes, that I 
return in a carriage from Mr. Brillon's? 

Gout. Certainly ; for, having been seated all the while, 
you cannot object the fatigue of the day, and cannot want 
therefore the relief of a carriage. 

Franklin. What then would you have me do with my 
carriage ? 

Gout. Burn it if you choose; you would at least get 
heat out of it once in this way ; or, if you dislike that pro- 
posal, here's another for you; observe the poor peasants, 
who work in the vineyards and grounds about the villages 
of Passy, Auteuil, Chaillot, &c. ; you may find every day, 
among these deserving creatures, four or -^Ye old men and 
women, bent and perhaps crippled by weight of years, and 
too long and too great labour. After a most fatiguing 
day, these people have to trudge a mile or two to their 
smoky huts. Order your coachman to set them down. 
This is an act that will be good for your soul ; and, at the 
same time, after your visit to the Brillons, if you return 
on foot, that will be good for your body. 

Franklin. Ah! how tiresome you are! 

Gout. Well, then, to my of&ce; it should not be for- 
gotten that I am your physician. There. 

Franklin. Ohhh! what a devil of a physician! 

Gout. How ungrateful you are to say so ! Is it not I 
who, in the character of your physician, have saved you 
from the palsy, dropsy, and apoplexy? one or other of 
which would have done for you long ago, but for me. 

Franklin. I submit, and thank you for the past, but 
entreat the discontinuance of your visits for the future; 



THE HANDSOME AND DEFOKMED LEG 151 

for, in my mind, one had better die tlian be cured so dole- 
fully. Permit me just to bint, that I have also not been 
unfriendly to you, I never feed physician or quack of any 
kind, to enter the list against you ; if then you do not leave 
me to my repose, it may be said you are ungrateful too. 

Gout. I can scarcely acknowledge that as any objec- 
tion. As to quacks, I despise them; they may kill you 
indeed, but cannot injure me. And, as to regular physi- 
cians, they are at last convinced that the gout, in such a 
subject as you are, is no disease, but a remedy ; and where- 
fore cure a remedy? — ^but to our business, — there. 

Eranklin. Oh! oh! — for Heaven's sake leave me! and 
I promise faithfully never more to play at chess, but to 
take exercise daily, and live temperately. 

Gout. I know you too well. You promise fair; but, 
after a few months of good health, you will return to your 
old habits; your fine promises will be forgotten like the 
forms of last year's clouds. Let us then finish the ac- 
count, and I will go. But I leave you with an assurance 
of visiting you again at a proper time and place; for my 
object is your good, and you are sensible now that I am 
your real friend, 

THE HA]SrDSO]\LE AND DEEOEMED LEG 

There are two Sorts of People in the World, who with 
equal Degrees of Health, & Wealth, and the other Com- 
forts of Life, become, the one happy, and the other miser- 
able. This arises very much from the different Views in 
which they consider Things, Persons, and Events ; and the 
Effect of those different Views upon their own Minds. 
' In whatever Situation Men can be plac'd, they may find 
Conveniences & Inconveniences: In whatever Company; 
they may find Persons & Conversation more or less pleas- 
ing. At whatever Table, they may meet with Meats & 
Drinks of better and worse Taste, Dishes better & worse 
dress'd : In whatever Climate they will find good and bad 
Weather: Under whatever Government, they may find 
good & bad Laws, and good & bad Administration of those 
Laws. In every Poem or Work of Genius they may see 
Faults and Beauties. In almost every Face & every Per- 
son, they may discover fine Features & Defects, good and 
bad Qualities. 



152 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

Under these Circumstances, the two Sorts of People 
above mentioned ^ their Attention, those who are to be 
happy, on the Conveniences of Things, the pleasant Parts 
of Conversation, the well-dress'd Dishes, the Goodness of 
the Wines, the fine Weather; &c., and enjoy all with 
Chearfulness. Those who are to be unhappy, think & 
speak only of the contraries. Hence they are continually 
discontented themselves, and by their Pemarks sour the 
Pleasures of Society, offend personally many People, and 
make themselves everywhere disagreable. If this Turn of 
Mind was founded in Nature, such unhappy Persons 
would be the more to be pitied. But as the Disposition to 
criticise, & be disgusted, is perhaps taken up originally by 
Imitation, and is unawares grown into a Habit, which 
tho' at present strong may nevertheless be cured when 
those who have it are convinc'd of its bad Effects on their 
Felicity; I hope this little Admonition may be of Service 
to them, and put them on changing a Habit, which tho' in 
the Exercise it is chiefly an Act of Imagination yet has 
serious Consequences in Life, as it brings on real Griefs 
and Misfortunes. For as many are offended by, & nobody 
well loves this Sort of People, no one shows them more 
than the most common [civility and respect, and scarcely 
that; and this frequently puts them out of humour, and 
draws them into disputes and contentions. If they aim 
at obtaining some advantage in rank or fortune, nobody 
wishes them success, or will stir a step, or speak a word, 
to favour their pretensions. If they incur public censure 
or disgrace, no one will defend or excuse, and many join 
to aggravate their misconduct, and render them com- 
pletely odious. If these people will not change this bad 
habit, and condescend to be pleased with what is pleas- 
ing, without fretting themselves and others about the con- 
traries, it is good for others to avoid an acquaintance with 
them; which is always disagreeable, and sometimes very 
inconvenient, especially when one finds one's self en- 
tangled in their quarrels. 

An old philosophical friend of mine was grown, from 
experience, very cautious in this particular, and carefully 
avoided any intimacy with such people. He had, like 
other philosophers, a thermometer to show him the heat 
of the weather, and a barometer to mark when it was likely 
to prove good or bad; but, there being no instrument in- 



BOSTON INDEPENDENT CHRONICLE 153 

vented to discover, at first sight, this unpleasing disposi- 
tion in a person, he for that purpose made use of his legs ; 
one of which was remarkably handsome, the other, by 
some accident, crooked and] deformed. If a Stranger, 
at the first interview, regarded his ugly Leg more than his 
handsome one, he doubted him. If he spoke of it, & took 
no notice of the handsome Leg, that was sufficient to de- 
termine my Philosopher to have no further Acquaintance 
with him. Every body has not this two-legged Instru- 
ment, but every one with a little Attention, may observe 
Signs of that carping, fault-finding Disposition, & take 
the same Resolution of avoiding the Acquaintance of those 
infected with it. I therefore advise those critical, queru- 
lous, discontented, unhappy People, that if they wish to 
be respected and belov'd by others, & happy in themselves 
they should leave off looking at the ugly Leg, 

[1780?] 



SUPPLEMENT TO THE BOSTON INDEPENDENT 

CHRONICLE ^ 

Boston, March 12, 1782. 

Extract of a Letter from Captain Gerrish, of the New 
England Militia, dated Albany, March 7. 

The Peltry taken in the Expedition [see the Account of 
the Expedition to Oswegatchie, on the River St. Laur- 
ence, in our Paper of the 1st Instant,] will, as you see, 
amount to a good deal of Money. The Possession of this 
Booty at first gave us Pleasure; but we were struck with 
Horror to find among the Packages 8 large ones, contain- 
ing SCALPS of our unhappy Country-folks, taken in the 
three last Years by the Senneka Indians from the Inhab- 
itants of the Frontiers of New York, New Jersey, Penn- 
sylvania, and Virginia, and sent by them as a Present to 
Col. Haldimand, governor of Canada, in order to be by 

1 The deception interded by this supposed "Supplement," (which 
was very accurately imitated with respect to printing, paper, the 
Insertion of advertisements, &c.,) was, that, by transmitting it to 
Ene^land, it might actually be taken for what it purported to be. — 
William Temple Franklin. 



154 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

him transmitted to England. They were accompanied hj 
the following curious Letter to that Gentleman. 

"Teoga, Jan. 3d, 1782. 
*'May it please your Excellency, 

"At the Request of the Senneka chiefs, I send herewith 
to your Excellency, under the Care of James Boyd, eight 
Packs of Scalps, cured, dried, hooped, and painted, with 
all the Indian triumphal Marks, of which the following is 
Invoice and Explanation. 

"No. 1. Containing 43 Scalps of Congress Soldiers,, 
killed in different Skirmishes; these are Stretched on 
black Hoops, 4 Inches diameter; the Inside of the Skin 
painted red, with a small black Spot to note their being 
killed with Bullets. Also 62 of Farmers killed in their 
Houses; the Hoops red; the Skin painted brown, and 
marked with a Hoe; a black Circle all round, to denote 
their being surprised in the Night; and a black Hatchet 
in the Middle, signifying their being killed with that 
Weapon. 

"No. 2. Containing 98 of Farmers killed in their 
Houses; Hoops red; Figure of a Hoe, to mark their Pro- 
fession; great white Circle and Sun, to show they were 
surprised in the Daytime; a little red Foot, to show they 
stood upon their Defence, and died fighting for their 
Lives and Families. 

"No. 3. Containing 97 of Farmers; Hoops green, to 
shew they were killed in their Fields; a large white 
Circle with a little round Mark on it for the Sun, to 
shew that it was in the Daytime; black Bullet-mark on 
some, Hatchet on others. 

"No. 4. Containing 102 of Farmers, mixed of the 
several Marks above; only 18 marked with a little yeUow 
Flame, to denote their being of Prisoners burnt alive, 
after being scalped, their Nails pulled out by the Boots, 
and other Torments; one of these latter supposed to be 
a rebel Clergyman, his Band being fixed to the Hoop of 
his Scalp. Most of the Farmers appear by the Hair to 
have been young or middle-aged Men; there being but 67 
very grey Heads among them all; which makes the 
Service more essential. ( 

"No. 5. Containing 88 Scalps of Women; hair long,' 
braided in the Indian Fashion, to shew they were 



BOSTON INDEPENDENT CHRONICLE 155 

Mothers; Hoops blue; Skin yellow Ground, with little 
red Tadpoles, to represent, by way of Triumph, the 
Tears of Grief occasioned to their Relations; a black 
scalping-Knife or Hatchet at the Bottom, to mark their 
being killed with those Instruments. 17 others, Hair 
very grey; black Hoops; plain brown Colour; no Mark, 
but the short Club or Casse-tete, to shew they were 
knocked down dead, or had their Brains beat out. 

^^No. 6. Containing 193 Boys' Scalps, of various 
Ages; small green Hoops; whitish Ground on the Skin, 
with red Tears in the Middle, and black Bullet-marks, 
Knife, Hatchet, or Club, as their Deaths happened. 

"No. 7. 211 Girls' Scalps, big and little; small yel- 
low Hoops; white Ground, Tears; Hatchet, Club, scalp- 
ing Knife, &c. 

"No. 8. This Package is a Mixture of all the Va- 
rieties above-mentioned; to the number of 122; with a 
Box of Birch Bark, containing 29 little Infants' Scalps 
of various Sizes; small white Hoops; white Ground; no 
Tears; and only a little black Knife in the Middle, to 
shew they were ript out of their Mothers' Bellies. 

"With these Packs, the Chiefs send to your Excellency 
the following Speech, delivered by Conejogatchie in 
Council, interpreted by the elder Moore, the Trader, and 
taken down by me in Writing. 

Father, 

We send you herewith many Scalps, that you may 
see we are not idle Friends. 

A hlue Belt 

Father, 

' We wish to send these Scalps over the Water to the 
great King, that he may regard them and be refreshed; 
and that he may see our faithfulness in destroying his 
Enemies, and be convinced that his Presents have not 
been made to ungrateful people. 

A hlue and white Belt with red Tassels. 

Father, 

Attend to what I am now going to say; it is a Matter 
of much Weight. The great King's Enemies are many, 
and they grow fast in Number. 'They were formerly like 
young Panthers; they could neither bite nor scratch; we 



156 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

could play with, them safely; we feared nothing they 
could do to us. But now their Bodies are become big as 
the Elk, and strong as the Buffalo; they have also got 
great and sharp Claws. They have driven us out of 
our Country for taking part in your Quarrel. We ex- 
pect the great King will give us another Country, that 
our Children may live after us, and be his Friends and 
Children, as we are. Say this for us to the great King. 
To enforce it, we give this Belt. 

A great white Belt with hlue Tassels. 

Father, 

We have only to say farther, that your Traders exact 
more than ever for their Goods; and our hunting is les- 
sened by the War, so that we have fewer Skins to give 
for them. This ruins us. Think of some Remedy. We 
are poor; and you have Plenty of every Thing. We 
know you will send us Powder and Guns, and Knives 
and Hatchets; but we also want Shirts and Blankets. 

A little white Belt. 

"I do not doubt but that your Excellency will think it 
proper to give some farther Encouragement to those 
honest People. The high Prices they complain of are 
the necessary Effect of the War. Whatever Presents 
may be sent for them, through my Hands, shall be dis- 
tributed with Prudence and Fidelity. I have the Hon- 
our of being your Excellency's most obedient 

"And most humble Servant, 

^^James Craufurd." 

It was at first proposed to bury these Scalps; but 
Lieutenant Fitzgerald, who, you know, has got Leave of 
Absence to go to Ireland on his private Affairs, said he 
thought it better they should proceed to their Destina- 
tion; and if they were given to him, he would undertake 
to carry them to England, and hang them all up in some 
dark Night on the Trees in St. James's Park, where 
they could be seen from the King and Queen's Palaces 
in the Morning; for that the Sight of them might per- 
haps strike Muley Ishmael (as he called him) with some 
Compunction of Conscience. They were accordingly 
delivered to Fitz, and he has brought them safe hither. 



BOSTON INDEPENDENT CHRONICLE 157 

To-morrow they go with his Baggage in a Waggon for 
Boston, and will probably be there in a few Days after 
this Letter. 

I am, &c. 

Samuel Gerrish. 

Boston, March 20. 
Monday last arrived here Lieutenant Fitzgerald above 
mentioned, and Yesterday the Waggon with the Scalps. 
Thousands of People are flocking to see them this Morn- 
ing, and all Mouths are full of Execrations. Fixing 
them to the Trees is not approved. It is now proposed 
to make them up in decent little Packets, seal and direct 
them; one to the King, containing a Sample of every 
Sort for his Museum; one to the Queen, with some of 
Women and little Children; the Pest to be distributed 
among both Houses of Parliament; a double Quantity to 
the Bishops. 

[The following part appeared in a second edition from 
which certain advertisements which had been published 
in the first edition were omitted.] 

Mr. Willis, 

Please to insert in your useful Paper the following 
Copy of a Letter from Commodore Jones, directed 

TO SIR JOSEPH YORK, AMBASSADOR FROM THE KING OF ENG- 
LAND TO THE STATES-GENERAL OF THE UNITED 

PROVINCES 

'Tpswich, New England, March 7, 1781. 

' "I have lately seen a memorial, said to have been pre- 
sented by your Excellency to their High Mightinesses the 
States-general, in which you are pleased to qualify me 
with the title of 'pirate. 

"A pirate is defined to be Jiostis humani generis [an 
enemy to all mankind]. It happens. Sir, that I am an 
enemy to no part of mankind, except your nation, the 
English; which nation at the same time comes much 
more within the definition, being actually an enemy to, 
and at war with, one whole quarter of the world, Amer- 
ica, considerable part of Asia and Africa, a great part 



158 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

of Europe, and in a fair way of being at war with the 
rest. 

"A pirate makes war for the sake of rapine. This is 
not the kind of war I am engaged in against England. 
Ours is a war in defence of liberty . . . the most just of 
all wars; and of our properties^ which your nation would 
have taken from us, without our consent, in violation of 
our rights, and by an armed force. Yours, therefore is a 
war of rapine; of course, a piratical war; and those who 
approve of it, and are engaged in it, more justly deserve 
the name of pirates, which you bestow on me. It is, in- 
deed, a war that coincides with the general spirit of your 
nation. Your common people in their ale-houses sing 
the twenty-four songs of Robin Hood, and applaud his 
deer-stealing and his robberies on the highway : those, who 
have just learning enough to read, are delighted with your 
histories of the pirates and of the buccaniers; and even 
your scholars in the universities study Quintus Curtius, 
and are taught to admire Alexander for what they call ^his 
conquests in the Indies.' Severe laws and the hangmen 
keep down the effects of this spirit somewhat among 
yourselves (though in your little Island you have never- 
theless more highway robberies than there are in all the 
rest of Europe put together) ; but a foreign war gives it 
full scope. It is then that, with infinite pleasure, it lets 
itself loose to strip of their property honest merchants, 
employed in the innocent and useful occupation of sup- 
plying the mutual wants of mankind. Hence, having 
lately no war with your ancient enemies, rather than be 
without a war, you chose to make one upon your friends. 
In this your piratical war with America, the mariners of 
your fleets and the owners of your privateers were ani- 
mated against us by the act of your Parliament, which 
repealed the law of God, 'Thou shalt not steal,' by declar- 
ing it lawful for them to rob us of all our property that 
they could meet with on the ocean. This act, too, had a 
retrospect, and, going beyond bulls of pardon, declared 
that all the robberies you had committed previous to the 
act should be deemed just and lawful. Your soldiers, too, 
were promised the plunder of our cities ; and your officers 
were flattered with the division of our lands. You had 
even the baseness to corrupt our servants, the sailors em- 
ployed by us, and encourage them to rob their masters 



BOSTON INDEPENDENT CHRONICLE 159 

and bring to you the ships and goods they were entrusted 
with. Is there any society of pirates on the sea or land, 
who, in declaring wrong to be right, and right wrong, have 
less authority than your parliament? Do any of them 
more justly than your parliament deserve the title you 
bestow on me? 

^^You will tell me that we forfeited all our estates by 
our refusal to pay the taxes your nation would have im- 
posed on us without the consent of our colony parliaments. 
Have you then forgotten the incontestable principle, which 
was the foundation of Hambden's glorious lawsuit with 
Charles the first, that ^what an English king has no right 
to demand, an English subject has a right to refuse'? 
But you cannot so soon have forgotten the instructions of 
your late honorable father, who, being himself a sound 
Whig, taught you certainly the principles of the Bevolu- 
tion, and that, ^if subjects might in some cases forfeit 
their property, kings also might forfeit their title, and 
all claim to the allegiance of their subjects.' I must 
then suppose you well acquainted with those Whig prin- 
ciples; on which permit me. Sir, to ask a few questions. 

"Is not protection as justly due from a king to his 
people, as obedience from the people to their king? 

"If then a king declares his people to be out of his pro- 
tection : 

"If he violates and deprives them of their constitutional 
rights : 

^^If he wages war against them: 

"If he plunders their merchants, ravages their coasts, 
burns their towns, and destroys their lives : 
, "If he hires foreign mercenaries to help him in their 
destruction : 

"If he engages savages to murder their defenceless 
farmers, women, and children: 

"If he cruelly forces such of his subjects as fall into his 
hands,^to bear arms against their country, and become 
executioners of their friends and brethren : 

"If he sells others of them into bondage, in Africa 
and the East Indies: 

"If he excites domestic insurrections among their serv- 
ants, and encourages servants to murder their masters : — • 

"Does not so atrocious a conduct towards his subjects 
dissolve their allegiance? 



160 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

"If not, please to say how or by what means it can pos- 
sibly be dissolved? 

^^All this horrible wickedness and barbarity has been 
and daily is practised by the King, your master, (as you 
call him in your memorial,) upon the Americans, whom 
he is still pleased to claim as his subjects. 

"During these six years past, he has destroyed not less 
than forty thousand of those subjects, by battles on land 
or sea, or by starring them, or poisoning them to death, 
in the unwholesome air, with the unwholesome food of his 
prisons. And he has wasted the lives of at least an equal 
number of his own soldiers and sailors: many of whom 
have been forced into this odious service, and dragged 
from their families and friends, by the outrageous vio- 
lence of his illegal press-gangs. You are a gentleman of 
letters, and have read history: do you recollect any in- 
stance of any tyrant, since the beginning of the world, 
who, in the course of so few years, had done so much 
mischief, by murdering so many of his own people? Let 
us view one of the worst and blackest of them, Nero. 
He put to death a few of his courtiers, placemen, and pen- 
sioners, and among the rest his tutor. Had George the 
Third done the same, and no more, his crime, though de- 
testable, as an act of lawless power, might have been as 
useful to his nation, as that of Nero was hurtful to Rome ; 
considering the different characters and merits of the suf- 
ferers. Nero indeed wished that the people of Rome had 
but one neck, that he might behead them all by one stroke ; 
but this was a simple wish. George is carrying the wish 
as fast as he can into execution; and, by continuing in 
his present course a few years longer, will have destroyed 
more of the British people than Nero could have found 
inhabitants in Rome. Hence the expression of Milton, 
in speaking of Charles the First, that he was 'Nerone 
Neronior* is still more applicable to George the third. 
Like Nero, and all other tyrants, while they lived, he 
indeed has his flatterers, his addressers, his applauders. 
Pensions, places, and hopes of preferment can bribe even 
bishops to approve his conduct : but when those fulsome, 
purchased addresses and panegyrics are sunk and lost in 
oblivion or contempt, impartial history will step forth, 
speak honest truth, and rank him among public calamities. 
The only difference will be, that plagues, i>estilences, and 



APOLOGUE 161 

famines are of this world, and arise from the nature of 
things; but voluntary malice, mischief, and murder, are 
from hell ; and this King will, therefore, stand foremost in 
the list of diabolical, bloody, and execrable tyrants. His 
base-bought parliaments too, who sell him their souls, and 
extort from the people the money with which they aid 
his destructive purposes, as they share his guilt, will share 
his infamy, — parliaments, who, to please him, have repeat- 
edly, by different votes year after year, dipped their hands 
in human blood, insomuch that methinks I see it dried 
and caked so thick upon them, that, if they could wash it 
off in the Thames, which flows under their windows, the 
whole river would run red to the ocean. 

^^One is provoked by enormous wickedness: but one is 
ashamed and humiliated at the view of human baseness. 
It afflicts me, therefore, to see a gentleman of Sir Joseph 
York's education and talents, for the sake of a red riband 
and a paltry stipend, mean enough to style such a monster 
his master, wear his livery, and hold himself ready at his 
command even to cut the throats of fellow subjects. This 
makes it impossible for me to end my letter with the civil- 
ity of a compliment, and obliges me to subscribe myself 
simply, 

"John Paul Jones, 
"Whom you are pleased to style a pirate/* 

APOLOGUE 

Lion, king of a certain forest, had among his subjects 
a body of faithful dogs, in principle and affection strongly 
attached to his person and government, but through whose 
assistance he had extended his dominions, and had be- 
come the terror of his enemies. 

Lion, however, influenced by evil counsellors, took an 
aversion to the dogs, condemned them unheard, and or- 
dered his tigers, leopards, and panthers to attack and de- 
stroy them. 

The dogs petitioned humbly, but their petitions were 
rejected haughtily; and they were forced to defend them- 
selves, which they did with bravery. 

A few among them, of a mongrel race, derived from a 
mixture with wolves and foxes, corrupted by royal prom- 



162 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

ises of great rewards, deserted the honest dogs and joined 
their enemies. 

The dogs were finally victorious : a treaty of peace was 
made, in which Lion acknowledged them to be free, and 
disclaimed all future authority over them. 

The mongrels not being permitted to return among 
them, claimed of the royalists the reward that had been 
promised. 

A council of the beasts was held to consider their de- 
mand. 

The wolves and the foxes agreed unanimously that the 
demand was just, that royal promises ought to be kept, 
and that every loyal subject should contribute freely to 
enable his majesty to fulfil them. 

The horse alone, with a boldness and freedom that be- 
came the nobleness of his nature, delivered a contrary 
opinion. 

"The Xing,'' said he, ^Tias been misled, by bad minis- 
ters, to war unjustly upon his faithful subjects. Eoyal 
promises, when made to encourage us to act for the public 
good, should indeed be honourably acquitted; but if to 
encourage us to betray and destroy each other, they are 
wicked and void from the beginning. The advisers of 
such promises, and those who murdered in consequence 
of them, instead of being recompensed, should be severely 
punished. Consider how greatly our common strength is 
already diminished by our loss of the dogs. If you enable 
the King to reward those fratricides, you will establish a 
precedent that may justify a future tyrant to make like 
promises; and every example of such an unnatural brute 
rewarded will give them additional weight. Horses and 
bulls, as well as dogs, may thus be divided against their 
own kmd, and civil wars produced at pleasure, till we are 
so weakened that neither liberty nor safety is any longer 
to be found in the forest, and nothing remains but abject 
submission to the will of a despot, who may devour us as 
he pleases.'' 

The council had sense enough to resolve — that the de- 
mand be rejected. [1783?] 



TO MES. SAEAH BACHE 163 

TO MES. SAEAH BACHE 

Passy, Jan. 26, 1784. 

My dear Child, 

Tour Care in sending me the Newspapers is very agre- 
able to me. I received by Capt. Barney those relating to 
the Cincinnati. My Opinion of the Institution cannot 
be of much Importance; I only wonder that, when the 
united Wisdom of our Nation had, in the Articles of Con- 
federation, manifested their Dislike of establishing Eanks 
of Nobility, by Authority either of the Congress or of any 
particular State, a Number of private Persons should 
think proper to distinguish themselves and their Poster- 
ity, from their fellow Citizens, and form an Order of 
hereditary Knights, in direct Opposition to the solemnly 
declared Sense of their Country! I imagine it must be 
likewise contrary to the Good Sense of most of those 
drawn into it by the Persuasion of its Projectors, who 
have been too much struck with the Eibbands and Crosses 
they have seen among them hanging to the Buttonholes of 
Foreign Officers. And I suppose those, who disapprove of 
it, have not hitherto given it much Opposition, from a 
Principle somewhat like that of your good Mother, relat- 
ing to punctilious Persons, who are always exacting little 
Observances of Eespect; that, ''if People can he pleased 
with small Matters, it is a pity hut they should have 
them," 

In this View, perhaps, I should not myself, if my Ad- 
vice had been ask'd, have objected to their wearing their 
Eibband and Badge according to their Fancy, tho' I cer- 
tainly should to the entailing it as an Honour on their 
Posterity. For Honour, worthily obtained (as for Exam- 
ple that of our Officers), is in its Nature a personal Thing, 
and incommunicable to any but those who had some 
Share in obtaining it. Thus among the Chinese, the most 
ancient, and from long Experience the wisest of Nations, 
honour does not descend, but ascends. If a man from his 
Learning, his Wisdom, or his Valour, is promoted by the 
Emperor to the Eank of Mandarin, his Parents are imme- 
diately entitled to all the same Ceremonies of Eespect 
from the People, that are established as due to the Man- 



164 BENJAMIN FEANEXIN 

darin himself; on the supposition that it must have been 
owing to the Education, Instruction, and good Example 
afforded him by his Parents, that he was rendered capable 
of serving the Pub lick. 

This ascending Honour is therefore useful to the State, 
as it encourages Parents to give their Children a good and 
virtuous Education. But the descending Honour, to Pos- 
terity who could have no Share in obtaining it, is not only 
groundless and absurd, but often hurtful to that Poster- 
ity, since it is apt to make them proud, disdaining to be 
employed in useful Arts, and thence falling into Poverty, 
and all the Meannesses, Servility, and Wretchedness at- 
tending it ; which is the present case with much of what is 
called the Nohlesse in Europe. Or if, to keep up the Dig- 
nity of the Family, Estates are entailed entire on the 
Eldest male heir, another Pest to Industry and Improve- 
ment of the Country is introduced, which will be followed 
by all the odious mixture of pride and Beggary, and idle- 
ness, that have half depopulated [and decultivated^ Spain; 
occasioning continual Extinction of Families by the Dis- 
couragements of Marriage [and neglect in the improve- 
ment of estates].^ 

I wish, therefore, that the Cincinnati, if they must go 
on with their Project, would direct the Badges of their 
Order to be worn by their Parents, instead of handing 
them down to their Children. It would be a good Prece- 
dent, and might have good Effects. It would also be a 
kind of Obedience to the Fourth Commandment, in which 
God enjoins us to honour our Father and Mother, but has 
nowhere directed us to honour our Children. And cer- 
tainly no mode of honouring those immediate Authors of 
our Being can be more effectual, than that of doing praise- 
worthy Actions, which reflect Honour on those who gave 
us our Education; or more becoming, than that of mani- 
festing, by some public Expression or Token, that it is to 
their Instruction and Example we ascribe the Merit of 
those Actions. 

But the Absurdity of descending Honours is not a mere 
Matter of philosophical Opinion; it is capable of mathe- 
matical Demonstration. A Man's Son, for instance, is 
but half of his Family, the other half belonging to the 

^ Passages in brackets are not found in the draft in the Library 
of Congress. — A. H. Smyth. 



TO MKS. SAEAH BACHE 165 

Family of his Wife. His Son, too, marrying into another 
Family, his Share in the Grandson is but a fourth; in the 
Great Grandson, by the same Process, it is but an Eighth; 
in the next Generation a Sixteenth; the next a Thirty- 
second; the next a Sixty-fourth; the next an Hundred 
and twenty-eighth; the next a Two hundred and Fifty- 
sixth; and the next a Five hundred and twelfth; thus in 
nine Generations, which will not require more than 300 
years (no very great Antiquity for a Family), our present 
Chevalier of the Order of Cincinnatus's Share in the 
then existing Knight, will be but a 512th part; which, al- 
lowing the present certain Fidelity of American Wives to 
be insur'd down through all those Nine Generations, is so 
small a Consideration, that methinks no reasonable Man 
would hazard for the sake of it the disagreeable Conse- 
quences of the Jealousy, Envy, and 111 will of his Country- 
men. 

Let us go back with our Calculation from this young 
Noble, the 512th part of the present Knight, thro' his 
nine Generations, till we return to the year of the Institu- 
tion. He must have had a Father and Mother, they are 
two. Each of them had a father and Mother, they are 
four. Those of the next preceding Generation will be 
eight, the next Sixteen, the next thirty-two, the next sixty- 
four, the next one hundred and Twenty-eight, the next 
Two hundred and fifty-six, and the ninth in this Retro- 
cession Five hundred and twelve, who must be now ex- 
isting, and all contribute their Proportion of this future 
Chevalier de Cincinnatus. These, with the rest, make 
together as follows : 

2 

4 

8 

16 

32 

64 

128 

256 

512 

Total 1022 

One Thousand and Twenty-two Men and Women, con- 



166 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

tributors to tlie formation of one Knight. And, if we 
are to have a Thousand of these future knights, there 
must be now and hereafter existing One million and 
Twenty-two Thousand Fathers and Mothers, who are to 
contribute to their Production, unless a Part of the Num- 
ber are employed in making more Knights than One. Let 
us strike off then the 22,000, on the Supposition of this 
double Employ, and then consider whether, after a reason- 
able Estimation of the Number of Pogues, and Fools, 
and Poyalists and Scoundrels and Prostitutes, that are 
mix'd with, and help to make up necessarily their Million 
of Predecessors, Posterity will have much reason to boast 
of the noble Blood of the then existing Set of Chevaliers 
de Cincinnatus. [The future genealogists, too, of these 
Chevaliers, in proving the lineal descent of their honour 
through so many generations (even supposing honour ca- 
pable in its nature of descending), will only prove the 
small share of this honour, which can be justly claimed by 
any one of them; since the above simple process in arith- 
metic makes it quite plain and clear that, in proportion 
as the antiquity of the family shall augment, the right to 
the honour of the ancestor will diminish; and a few gen- 
erations more would reduce it to something so small as to 
be very near an absolute nullity.] I hope, therefore, that 
the Order will drop this part of their project, and content 
themselves, as the Knights of the Garter, Bath, Thistle, 
St. Louis, and other Orders of Europe do, with a Life En- 
joyment of their little Badge and Bibband, and let the 
Distinction die with those who have merited it. This I 
imagine will give no offence. For my own part, I shall 
think it a Convenience, when I go into a Company where 
there may be Faces unknown to me, if I discover, by this 
Badge, the Persons who merit some particular Expression 
of my Bespect; and it will save modest Virtue the Trou- 
ble of calling for our Begard, by awkward roundabout In- 
timations of having been heretofore employed in the Con- 
tinental Service. 

The Gentleman, who made the Voyage to France to 
provide the Bibands and Medals, has executed his Com- 
mission. To me they seem tolerably done; but all such 
Things are criticised. Some find Fault with the Latin, as 
wanting classic Elegance and Correctness; and, since our 
Nine Universities were not able to furnish better Latin, it 



TO MES. SARAH BACHE 167 

was pity, they say, that the Mottos had not been in Eng- 
lish. Others object to the Title, as not properly assum- 
able by any but Gen. Washington, [and a few others] 
who serv'd without Pay. Others object to the Bald Eagle 
as looking too much like a Dindon, or Turkey. For my 
own part, I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen as 
the Eepresentative of our Country; he is a Bird of bad 
moral Character; he does not get his living honestly; you 
may have seen him perch'd on some dead Tree, near the 
Eiver where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the 
Labour of the Fishing-Hawk; and, when that diligent 
Bird has at length taken a Fish, and is bearing it to his 
Nest for the support of his Mate and young ones, the 
Bald Eagle pursues him, and takes it from him. With 
all this Injustice he is never in good Case ; but, like those 
among Men who live by Sharping and Robbing, he is gen- 
erally poor, and often very lousy. Besides, he is a rank 
Coward; the little King Bird, not bigger than a sparrow, 
attacks him boldly and drives him out of the District. 
He is therefore by no means a proper emblem for the 
brave and honest Cincinnati of America, who have driven 
all the Kinghirds from our Country; though exactly fit 
for that Order of Knights, which the French call Cheva- 
liers d'Industrie. 

I am, on this account, not displeas'd that the Figure is 
not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turk'y. 
For in Truth, the Turk'y is in comparison a much more 
respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of 
America. Eagles have been found in all Countries, but 
the Turk'y was peculiar to ours; the first of the Species 
seen in Europe being brought to France by the Jesuits 
from Canada, and serv'd up at the Wedding Table of 
Charles the Ninth. He is, [though a little vain and silly, 
it is true, biiit not the worse emblem for that,] a Bird of 
Courage, and would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of 
the British Guards, who should presume to invade his 
Farm Yard with a red Coat on. 

I shall not enter into the Criticisms made upon their 
Latin. The gallant officers of America may [not have 
the merit of being] be no great scholars, but they un- 
doubtedly merit much, [as brave soldiers,] from their 
Country, which should therefore not leave them merely 
to Fame for their ''Virtuiis Premium^' which is one of 



168 BENJAMIK FRANKLIN 

their Latin Mottos. Their ''Esto perpetuaf* another, is an 
excellent Wish, if they meant it for their Country; bad, 
if intended for their Order. The States should not only 
restore to them the Omnia of their first Motto,^ which 
many of them have left and lost, but pay them justly, 
and reward them generously. They should not be suf- 
fered to remain, with [all] their new-created Chivalry, 
entirely in the Situation of the Gentleman in the Story, 
which their omnia reliquit reminds me of. You know 
every thing makes me recollect some Story. He had built 
a very fine House, and thereby much impair'd his Fortune, 
He had a Pride, however, in showing it to his Acquaint- 
ance. One of them, after viewing it all, remarked a Motto 
over the Door, ^^OlA VANITAS.'' 'What," says he, '^is 
the Meaning of this OlA? it is a word I don't under- 
stand.'^ "I will tell you,'' said the Gentleman; '^I had a 
mind to have the Motto cut on a Piece of smooth Marble, 
but there was not room for it between the Ornaments, to 
be put in Characters large enough to be read. I therefore 
made use of a Contraction antiently very common in Latin 
Manuscripts, by which the m's and n's in Words are omit- 
ted, and the Omission noted by a little Dash above, which 
you may see there; so that the Word is omnia, omnia 
VANITAS." "O," says his Friend, '^I now comprehend the 
Meaning of your motto, it relates to your Edifice; and 
signifies, that, if you have abridged your Omnia, you 
have, nevertheless, left your vanitas legible at full length." 
I am, as ever, your affectionate father, 

B. Franklin. 

AN ECONOMICAL PEOJECT 

TO THE AUTHORS OF THE JOURNAL OF PARIS 

Messieurs, 

You often entertain us with accounts of new discov- 
eries. Permit me to communicate to the public, through 
your paper, one that has lately been made by myself, and 
which I conceive may be of great utility. 

I was the other evening in a grand company, where the 
new lamp of Messrs. Quinquet and Lange was introduced, 
and much admired for its splendour; but a general in- 

^1 ■ ■ ■■■■^■l^■■ ■■ — II I II ■ ■ ■ I .1 .^^■■^ »■— ■■ ■_ ■ — ■■■ i ■ ■! ii i ■ -- __■ . .J 

^ Omnia reliquit servare rempublicam. 



AN ECONOMICAL PEOJECT 169 

quiry was made, whether the oil it consumed was not in 
proportion to the light it afforded, in which case there 
would be no saving in the use of it. No one present 
could satisfy us in that point, which all agreed ought to 
be known, it being a very desirable thing to lessen, if pos- 
sible, the expense of lighting our apartrnents, when every 
ofher article of family expense was so much augmented. 

I was pleased to see this general concern for economy, 
for I love economy exceedingly. 

I went home, and to bed, three or four hours after mid- 
night, with my head full of the subject. An accidental 
sudden noise waked me about six in the morning, when I 
was surprised to find my room filled with light; and I 
imagined at first, that a number of those lamps had been 
brought into it; but, rubbing my eyes, I perceived the 
light came in at the windows. I got up and looked out 
to see what might be the occasion of it, when I saw the 
sun just rising above the horizon, from whence he poured 
his rays plentifully into my chamber, my domestic having 
negligently omitted, the preceding evening, to close the 
shutters. 

I looked at my watch, which goes very well, and found 
that it was but six o'clock ; and still thinking it something 
extraordinary that the sun should rise so early, I looked 
into the almanac, where I found it to be the hour given 
for his rising on that day. I looked forward, too, and 
found he was to rise still earlier every day till towards the 
end of June ; and that at no time in the year he retarded 
his rising so long as till eight o'clock. Your readers, who 
with me have never seen any signs of sunshine before 
noon, and seldom regard the astronomical part of the al- 
manac, will be as much astonished as I was, when they 
hear of his rising so early; and especially when I assure 
them, that he gives light as soon as he rises, I am con- 
vinced of this. I am certain of my fact. One cannot be 
more certain of any fact. I saw it with my own eyes. 
And, having repeated this observation the three following 
mornings, I found always precisely the same result. 

Yet it so ha-'ipens, that when I speak of this discovery 
to others, I can easily perceive by their countenances,- 
though they forbear expressing it in words, that they do 
not quite believe me. One, indeed, who is a learned nat- 
ural philosopher, has assured me that I must certainly be 



170 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

mistaken as to the circumstance of the light coming into 
my room; for it being well known, as he says, that there 
could be no light abroad at that hour, it follows that none 
could enter from without; and that of consequence, my 
windows being accidentally left open, instead of letting in 
the light, had only served to let out the darkness ; and he 
used many ingenious arguments to show me how I might, 
by that means, have been deceived. I owned that he puz- 
zled me a little, but he did not satisfy me; and the subse- 
quent observations I made, as above mentioned, confirmed 
me in my first opinion. 

This event has given rise in my mind to several serious 
and important reflections. I considered that, if I had not 
been awakened so early in the morning, I should have 
slept six hours longer by the light of the sun, and in ex- 
change have lived six hours the following night by candle- 
light; and, the latter being a much more expensive light 
than the former, my love of economy induced me to mus- 
ter up what little arithmetic I was master of, and to make 
some calculations, which I shall give you, after observing 
that utility is, in' my opinion the test of value in matters 
of invention, and that a discovery which can be applied to 
no use, or is not good for something, is good for nothing. 

I took for the basis of my calculation the supposition 
that there are one hundred thousand families in Paris, 
and that these families consume in the night half a 
pound of bougies, or candles, per hour. I think this is a 
moderate allowance, taking one family with another; for 
though I believe some consume less, I know that many 
consume a great deal more. Then estimating seven hours 
per day as a medium quantity between the time of the 
sun's rising and ours, he rising during the six following 
months from six to eight hours before noon, and there 
being seven hours of course per night in which we burn 
candles, the account will stand thus; — 

In the six months between the 20th of March and the 
20th of September, there are 

Nights . . . . 183 

Hours of each night in which we burn can- 
dles 7 

Multiplication gives for the total number 

of hours 1,281 



AN ECONOMICAL PKOJECT 171 

These 1,281 hours multiplied by 100,000, 

the number of inhabitants, give . . . 128,100,000 
One hundred twenty- eight millions and 
one hundred thousand hours, spent at 
Paris by candle-light, which, at half a 
pound of wax and tallow per hour, gives 

the weight of 64,050,000 

Sixty-four millions and fifty thousand of 
pounds, which, estimating the whole at 
the medium price of thirty sols the 
pound, makes the sum of ninety-six mil- 
lions and seventy-five thousand livres 

toumois 96,075,000 

An immense sum! that the city of Paris might save 
every year, by the economy of using sunshine instead of 
candles. 

If it should be said, that people are apt to be obsti- 
nately attached to old customs, and that it will be diffi- 
cult to induce them to rise before noon, consequently my 
discovery can be of little use; I answer. Nil desperandum, 
I believe all who have common sense, as soon as they have 
learnt from this paper that it is daylight when the sun 
rises, will contrive to rise with him; and, to compel the 
rest, I would propose the following regulations; 

First. Let a tax be laid of a louis per window, on every 
window that is provided with shutters to keep out the 
light of the sun. 

Second. Let the same salutary operation of police be 
made use of, to prevent our burning candles, that inclined 
us last winter to be more economical in burning wood; 
that is, let guards be placed in the shops of the wax and 
tallow chandlers, and no family be permitted to be sup- 
plied with more than one pound of candles per week. 

Third. Let guards also be posted to stop all the 
coaches, &c. that would pass the streets after sun-set, ex- 
cept those of physicians, surgeons, and midwives. 

Fourth. Every morning, as soon as the sun rises, let 
all the bells in every church be set ringing; and if that is 
not sufficient, let cannon be fired in every street, to wake 
the sluggards effectually, and make them open their eyes 
to see their true interest. 

All the difficulty will be in the first two or three days; 
after which the reformation will be as natural and easy as 



172 BENJAMIN FEANEXIN 

the present irregularity; for, ce riest que le premier pas 
qui coute. Oblige a man to rise at four in the morning, 
and it is more than probable he will go willingly to bed at 
eight in the evening; and, having had eight hours sleep, 
he will rise more willingly at four in the morning follow- 
ing. But this sum of ninety-six millions and seventy- 
five thousand livres is not the whole of what may be saved 
by my economical project. You may observe, that I have 
calculated upon only one half of the year, and much may 
be saved in the other, though the days are shorter. Be- 
sides, the immense stock of wax and tallow left uncon- 
sumed during the summer, will probably make candles 
much cheaper for the ensuing winter, and continue them 
cheaper as long as the proposed reformation shall be sup- 
ported. 

For the great benefit of this discovery, thus freely com- 
municated and bestowed by me on the public, I demand 
neither place, pension, exclusive privilege, nor any other 
reward whatever. I expect only to have the honour of it. 
And yet I know there are little, envious minds, who will, 
as usual, deny me this, and say, that my invention was 
known to the ancients, and perhaps they may bring pas- 
sages out of the old books in proof of it. I will not dis- 
pute with these people, that the ancients knew not the sun 
would rise at certain hours ; they possibly had, as we have, 
almanacs that predicted it; but it does not follow thence, 
that they knew he gave light as soon as he rose. This is 
what I claim as my discovery. If the ancients knew it, 
it might have been long since forgotten ; for it certainly 
was unknown to the modems, at least to the Parisians, 
which to prove, I need use but one plain simple argument. 
They are as well instructed, judicious, and prudent a peo- 
ple as exist anywhere in the world, all professing, like my- 
self, to be lovers of economy; and, from the many heavy 
taxes required from them by the necessities of the state, 
have surely an abundant reason to be economical. I say 
it is impossible that so sensible a people, under such cir- 
cumstances, should have lived so long by the smoky, un- 
wholesome, and enormously expensive light of candles, if 
they had really known, that they might have had as much 
pure light of the sun for nothing. I am, &c. 

A Subscriber. 
[March, 1784.] 



TO SAMUEL MATHER • 173 

TO SAMUEL MATHER 

Passy, May 12, 1784. 

Rev^ Sir, 

I received your kind letter, with your excellent advice 
to the people of the United States, which I read with great 
pleasure, and hope it will be duly regarded. Such writ- 
ings, though they may be lightly passed over by many 
readers, yet, if they make a deep impression on one active 
mind in a hundred, the effects may be considerable. Per- 
mit me to mention one little instance, which, though it 
relates to myself, will not be quite uninteresting to you. 
When I was a boy, I met with a book, entitled "Essays to 
do Good'' which I think was written by your father. It 
had been so little regarded by a former possessor, that 
several leaves of it were torn out ; but the remainder gave 
me such a turn of thinking, as to have an influence on my 
conduct through life ; for I have always set a greater value 
on the character of a doer of good, than on any other kind 
of reputation; and if I have been, as you seem to think, a 
useful citizen, the public owes the advantage of it to that 
book. 

You mention your being in your Y8*^ year; I am in my 
79*^; we are grown old together. It is now more than 60 
years since I left Boston, but I remember well both your 
father and grandfather, having heard them both in the 
pulpit, and seen them in their houses. The last time I 
saw your father was in the beginning of 1724, when I 
visited him after my first trip to Pennsylvania. He re- 
ceived me in his library, and on my taking leave showed 
me a shorter way out of the house through a narrow 
passage, which was crossed by a beam over head. We 
were still talking as I withdrew, he accompanying me 
behind, and I turning partly towards him, when he said 
hastily, ''Stoop, stoop!" I did not understand him, till I 
felt my head hit against the beam. He was a man that 
never missed any occasion of giving instruction, and 
upon this he said to me, "You are young, and have the 
world hefore you; stoop as you go through it, and you will 
miss many hard thumps/' This advice, thus beat into my 
head, has frequently been of use to me; and I often think 



174 BE:^JAMI]N' FKANKLIISr 

of it, when I see pride mortified, and misfortunes brouglit 
upon people by tlieir carrying their heads too high. 

I long much to see again my native place, and to lay 
my bones there. I left it in 1723; I visited it in 1733, 
1743, 1753, and 1763. In 1773 I was in England; in 1775 
I had a sight of it, but could not enter, it being in pos- 
session of the enemy. I did hope to have been there in 
1783, but could not obtain my dismission from this em- 
ployment here; and now I fear I shall never have that 
happiness. My best wishes however attend my dear coun- 
try. Esto perpetua. It is now blest with an excellent con- 
stitution; may it last for ever! 

This powerful monarchy continues its friendship for 
the United States. It is a friendship of the utmost im- 
portance to our security, and should be carefully culti- 
vated. Britain has not yet well digested the loss of its 
dominion over us, and has still at times some flattering 
hopes of recovering it. Accidents may increase those 
hopes, and encourage dangerous attempts. A breach be- 
tween us and France would infallibly bring the English 
again upon our backs; and yet we have some wild heads 
among our countrymen, who are endeavouring to weaken 
that connexion! Let us preserve our reputation by per- 
forming our engagements; our credit by fulfilling our 
contracts; and friends by gratitude and kindness; for we 
know not how soon we may again have occasion for all of 
them. With great and sincere esteem, I have the honour 
to be, &c. B. Franklin. 

TO MASON WEEMS AND EDWAKD GANT 

Passy, July 18, 1784. 

Ge:itlemen, 

On receipt of your Letter, acquainting me that the 
Archbishop [of Canterbury] would not permit you to be 
ordain'd, unless you took the Oath of Allegiance, I apply'd 
to a Clergyman of my Acquaintance for Information on 
the Subject of your obtaining Ordination here. His 
Opinion was, that it could not be done; and that, if it 
were done, you would be required to vow Obedience to the 
Archbishop of Paris. I next inquired of the Pope's Nun- 
cio, whether you might not be ordain'd by their Bishop 



TO MASON WEEMS AND EDWAED GANT 175 

in America, Powers being sent him for that purpose, if he 
has them not already. The answer was, ^^The Thing is 
impossible, unless the Gentlemen become Catholics.'' 

This is an Affair of which I know very little, and there- 
fore I may ask Questions and propose means that are im- 
proper or impracticable. But what is the necessity of 
your being connected with the Church of England? 
Would it not be as well, if you were of the Church of Ire- 
land? The Religion is the same, tho' there is a different 
set of Bishops and Archbishops. Perhaps if you were to 
apply to the Bishop of Derry, who is a man of liberal Sen- 
timents, he might give you Orders as of that Church. If 
both Britain and Ireland refuse you, (and I am not sure 
that the Bishops of Denmark or Sweden would ordain you, 
unless you become Lutherans,) what is to be done? Next 
to becoming Presbyterians, the Episcopalian clergy of 
America, in my humble Opinion, cannot do better than to 
follow the Example of the first Clergy of Scotland, soon 
after the Conversion of that Country to Christianity, who 
when their King had built the Cathedral of St. Andrew's, 
and requested the King of Northumberland to lend his 
Bishops to ordain one for them, that their Clergy might 
not as heretofore be obliged to go to Northumberland for 
Orders, and their Bequest was refused; they assembled in 
the Cathedral; and, the Mitre, Crosier, and Bobes of a 
Bishop being la-id upon the Altar, they, after earnest 
Prayers for Direction in their Choice, elected one of their 
own Number; when the King said to him, ^' Arise, go to 
the Altar, and receive your Office at the Hand of God." 
His brethren led him to the Altar, robed him, put the Cro- 
zier in his Hand, and the Mitre on his Head, and he be- 
came the first Bishop of Scotland. 

If the British Isles were sunk in the Sea (and the Sur- 
face of this Globe has suffered greater Changes), you 
would probably take some such Method as this; and, if 
they persist in denying you Ordination, 'tis the same 
thing. An hundred years hence, when People are more 
enlightened, it will be wondered at, that Men in America, 
qualified by their Learning and Piety to pray for and in- 
struct their Neighbors, should not be permitted to do it 
till they had made a Voyage of six thousand Miles out and 
home, to ask leave of a cross old Gentleman at Canter- 
bury ; who seems, by your Account, to have as little Regard 



1Y6 BENJAMIN TEANKLIN 

for the Souls of the People of Maryland, as King Wil- 
liam's Attorney- General, Seymour, had for those of Vir- 
ginia. The Reverend Commissary Blair, who projected 
the College of that Province, and was in England to solicit 
Benefactions and a Charter, relates, that the Queen, in 
the King's Absence, having ordered Seymour to draw up 
the Charter, which was to be given, with $2000 in Money, 
he opposed the Grant ; saying that the Nation was engaged 
in an expensive War, that the Money was wanted for bet- 
ter purposes, and he did not see the least Occasion for a 
College in Virginia. Blair represented to him, that its 
Intention was to educate and qualify young Men to be 
Ministers of the Gospel, much wanted there; and begged 
Mr. Attorney would consider, that the People of Virginia 
had souls to be saved, as well as the People of England. 
''Souls!" says he, ''damn your souls. Make Tobacco!" 
I have the honour to be, Gentlemen, &c. 

B. Eranklin. 

EEMAEKS CONCEENING THE SAVAGES OE 
NOETH AMEEICA 

Savages we call them, because their Manners differ from 
ours, which we think the Perfection of Civility ; they think 
the same of theirs. 

Perhaps, if we could examine the Manners of different 
Nations with Impartiality, we should find no People so 
rude, as to be without any Eules of Politeness ; nor any so 
polite, as not to have some Eemains of Eudeness. 

The Indian Men, when young, are Hunters and War- 
riors; when old, Counsellors; for all their Government is 
by Counsel of the Sages; there is no Eorce, there are no 
Prisons, no Officers to compel Obedience, or inflict Punish- 
ment. Hence they generally study Oratory, the best 
Speaker having the most Influence. The Indian Women 
till the Ground, dress the Eood, nurse and bring up the 
Children, and preserve and hand down to Posterity the 
Memory of public Transactions. These Employments of 
Men and Women are accounted natural and honourable. 
Having few artificial Wants, they have abundance of 
Leisure for Improvement by Conversation. Our laborious 
Manner of Life, compared with theirs, they esteem slavish 
and base; and the Learning, on which we value ourselves. 



CONCEENING SAVAGES OF AMEEICA 177 

they regard as frivolous and useless. An Instance of this 
occurred at the Treaty of Lancaster, in Pennsylvania, 
anno 1744, between the Government of Virginia and the 
Six Nations. After the principal Business was settled, the 
Commissioners from Virginia acquainted the Indians by a 
Speech, that there was at Williamsburg a College, with a 
Fund for Educating Indian youth; and that, if the Six 
Nations would send down half a dozen of their young 
Lads to that College, the Government would take care that 
they should be well provided for, and instructed in all the 
Learning of the White People. It is one of the Indian 
Eules of Politeness not to answer a public Proposition 
the same day that it is made; they think it would be 
treating it as a light matter, and that they show it Ee- 
spect by taking time to consider it, as of a Matter impor- 
tant. They therefore deferred their Answer till the Day 
following; when their Speaker began, by expressing their 
deep Sense of the kindness of the Virginia Government, 
in making them that Offer; ^^for we know,^' says he, ^^that 
you highly esteem the kind of Learning taught in those 
Colleges, and that the Maintenance of our young Men, 
while with you, would be very expensive to you. We are 
convinc'd, therefore, that you mean to do us Good by your 
Proposal; and we thank you heartily. But you, who are 
wise, must know that different Nations have different 
Conceptions of things; and you will therefore not take it 
amiss, if our Ideas of this kind of Education happen not 
to be the same with yours. We have had some Experience 
o'f it; Several of our young People were formerly brought 
up at the Colleges of the Northern Provinces; they were 
instructed in all your Sciences ; but, when they came back 
to us, they were bad Eunners, ignorant of every means of 
living in the Woods, unable to bear either Cold or Hun- 
ger, knew neither how to build a Cabin, take a Deer, or 
kill an Enemy, spoke our Language imperfectly, were 
therefore neither fit for Hunters, Warriors, nor Coun- 
sellors ; they were totally good for nothing. We are, how- 
ever not the less oblig'd by your kind Offer, tho' we decline 
accepting it; and, to show our grateful Sense of it, if the 
Gentlemen of Virginia will send us a Dozen of their Sons, 
we will take great Care of their Education, instruct them 
in all we know, and make Men of them." 

Having frequent Occasions to hold public Councils, 



178 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

they have acquired great Order and Decency in conduct- 
ing them. The old Men sit in the foremost Ranks, the 
Warriors in the next, and the Women and Children in 
the hindmost. The Business of the Women is to take 
exact Notice of what passes, imprint it in their Memories 
(for they have no Writing), and communicate it to their 
Children. They are the Records of the Council, and they 
preserve Traditions of the Stipulations in Treaties 100 
Years back; which, when we compare with our Writings, 
we always find exact. He that would speak, rises. The 
rest observe a profound Silence. When he has finished 
and sits down, they leave him 5 or 6 Minutes to recollect, 
that, if he has omitted anything he intended to say, or 
has any thing to add, he may rise again and deliver it. 
To interrupt another, even in common Conversation, is 
reckoned highly indecent. How different this is from 
the conduct of a polite British House of Commons, where 
scarce a day passes without some Confusion, that makes 
the Speaker hoarse in calling to Order; and how different 
from the Mode of Conversation in many polite Companies 
of Europe, where, if you do not deliver your Sentence with 
great Rapidity, you are cut off in the middle of it by the 
Impatient Loquacity of those you converse with, and never 
suffered to finish it! 

The Politeness of these Savages in Conversation is in- 
deed carried to Excess, since it does not permit them to 
contradict or deny the Truth of what is asserted in their 
Presence. By this means they indeed avoid Disputes ; but 
then it becomes difficult to know their Minds, or what Im- 
pression you make upon them. The Missionaries who 
have attempted to convert them to Christianity, all com- 
plain of this as one of the great Difficulties of their Mis- 
sion. The Indians hear with Patience the Truths of the 
Gospel explained to them, and give their usual Tokens of 
Assent and Approbation; you would think they were con- 
rinc'd. No such matter. It is mere Civility. 

A Swedish Minister, having assembled the chiefs of the 
Susquehanah Indians, made a Sermon to them, acquaint- 
ing them with the principal historical Facts on which our 
Religion is founded ; such as the Fall of our first Parents 
by eating an Apple, the coming of Christ to repair the 
Mischief, his Miracles and Suffering, &c. When he had 
finished, an Indian Orator stood up to thank him. "What 



CONCEKMNG SAVAGES OF AMEEICA 179 

you have told us," says he, "is all very good. It is in- 
deed bad to eat Apples. It is better to make thera all into 
Cyder. We are much obliged by your kindness in coming 
so far, to tell us these Things which you have heard from 
your Mothers. In return, I will tell you some of those we 
have heard from ours. In the Beginning, our Fathers had 
only the Flesh of Animals to subsist on; and if their 
Hunting was unsuccessful, they were starving. Two of 
our young Hunters, having kill'd a Deer, made a Fire in 
the Woods to broil some Part of it. When they were 
about to satisfy their Hunger, they beheld a beautiful 
young Woman descend from the Clouds, and seat herself 
on that Hill, which you see yonder among the Blue 
Mountains. They said to each other, it is a Spirit that 
has smelt our broiling Venison, and wishes to eat of it; 
let us offer some to her. They presented her with the 
Tongue; she was pleas'd with the Taste of it, and said, 
Tour kindness shall be rewarded; come to this Place 
after thirteen Moons, and you shall find something that 
will be of great Benefit in nourishing you and your Chil- 
dren to the latest Generation.^ They did so, and to their 
Surprise, found Plants they had never seen before; but 
which, from that ancient time, have been constantly culti- 
vated among us, to our great Advantage. Where her 
right Hand had touched the Ground, they found Maize; 
where her left hand had touch'd it, they found Kidney- 
Beans; and where her Backside had sat on it, they found 
Tobacco." The good Missionary, disgusted with this 
idle Tale, said, "What I delivered to you were sacred 
Truths; but what you tell me is mere Fable, Fiction, and 
Falsehood." The Indian, offended, reply'd, "My brother, 
it seems your Friends have not done you Justice in your 
Education ; they have not well instructed you in the Pules 
of Common Civility. You saw that we, who understand 
and practise those Rules, believ'd all your stories ; why do 
you refuse to believe ours?" 

When any of them come into our Towns, our People are 
apt to crowd round them, gaze upon them, and incommode 
them, where they desire to be private; this they esteem 
great Rudeness and the Effect of the Want of Instruction 
in the Rules of Civility and good Manners. "We have," 
say they, "as much Curiosity as you, and when you come 
into our Towns, we wish for Opportunities of looking at 



180 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

you ; but for this purpose we hide ourselves behind Bushes, 
where you are to pass, and never intrude ourselves into 
your Company." 

Their Manner of entring one another's village has like- 
wise its Rules. It is reckoned uncivil in travelling Stran- 
gers to enter a Village abruptly, without giving Notice of 
their Approach. Therefore, as soon as they arrive within 
hearing, they stop and hollow, remaining there till in- 
vited *to enter. Two old Men usually come out to them, 
and lead them in. There is in every Village a vacant 
Dwelling, called the Strangers' House, Here they are 
placed, while the old Men go round from Hut to Hut, ac- 
quainting the Inhabitants, that Strangers are arriv'd, 
who are probably hungry and weary; and every one sends 
them what he can spare of Victuals, and Skins to repose 
on. When the Strangers are refreshed. Pipes and Tobacco 
are brought; and then, but not before, Conversation be- 
gins, with Enquiries who they are, whither bound, what 
News, &c. ; and it usually ends with offers of Service, if 
the Strangers have occasion of Guides, or any Necessaries 
for continuing their Journey; and nothing is exacted for 
the Entertainment. 

The same Hospitality, esteemed among them as a prin- 
cipal Virtue, is practised by private Persons; of which 
Conrad Weiser, our Interpreter, gave me the following 
Instance. He had been naturalized among the Six Na- 
tions, and spoke well the Mohock Language. In going 
thro' the Indian Country, to carry a Message from our 
Governor to the Council at Onondaga, he call'd at the 
Habitation of Canassatego, an old Acquaintance, who em- 
brac'd him, spread Furs for him to sit on, plac'd before 
him some boil'd Beans and Venison, and mix'd some Bum 
and Water for his Drink. When he was well refresh'd, 
and had lit his Pipe, Canassatego began to converse with 
him; ask'd how he had far'd the many Years since they 
had seen each other; whence he then came; what occa- 
sion'd the Journey, &c. Conrad answered all his Ques- 
tions; and when the Discourse began to flag, the Indian, 
to continue it, said, "Conrad, you have lived long among 
the white People, and know something of their Customs; 
I have been sometimes at Albany, and have observed, that 
once in Seven Days they shut up their Shops, and as- 
semble all in the great House; tell me what it is for? 



CONCEENING SAVAGES OF AMEEICA 181 

What do they do there?" "They meet there," says Con- 
rad, "to hear and learn good Things." "I do not doubt," 
says the Indian, "that they tell you so; they have told me 
the same; but I doubt the Truth of what they say, and I 
will tell you my Eeasons. I went lately to Albany to sell 
my Skins and buy Blankets, Knives, Powder, Eum, &c. 
You know I us'd generally to deal with Hans Hanson; 
but I was a little inclin'd this time to try some other 
Merchant. However, I calFd first upon Hans, and asked 
him what he would give for Beaver. He said he could not 
give any more than four Shillings a Pound; ^but,' says he, 
^I cannot talk on Business now; this is the Day when we 
meet together to learn Good Things, and I am going to 
the Meeting.' So I thought to myself, ^Since we cannot 
do any Business to-day, I may as well go to the meeting, 
too,' and I went with him. There stood up a Man in 
Black, and began to talk to the People very angrily. I did 
not understand what he said ; but, perceiving that he look'd 
much at me and at Hanson, I imagin'd he was angry at 
seeing me there; so I went out, sat down near the House, 
struck Fire, and lit my Pipe, waiting till the Meeting 
should break up. I thought too, that the Man had men- 
tioned something of Beaver, and I suspected it might be 
the Subject of their Meeting. So, when they came out, I 
accosted my Merchant. Well, Hans,' says I, ^I hope you 
have agreed to give more than four Shillings a Pound.' 
^No,' says he, ^I cannot give so much; I cannot give more 
than three shillings and sixpence.' I then spoke to several 
other Dealers, but they all sung the same song, — Three 
and sixpence, — Three and sixpence. This made it clear 
to me, that my Suspicion was right; and, that whatever 
they pretended of meeting to learn good Things, the real 
purpose was to consult how to cheat Indians in the Price 
of Beaver. Consider but a little, Conrad, and you must 
be of my Opinion. If they met so often to learn good 
Things, they would certainly have learnt some before this 
time. But they are still ignorant. You know our Prac- 
tice. If a white Man, in travelling thro' our Country, 
enters one of our Cabins, we all treat him as I treat you ; 
we dry him if he is wet, we warm him if he is cold, we give 
him Meat and Drink, that he may allay his Thirst and 
Hunger ; and we spread soft Furs for him to rest and sleep 
on; we demand nothing in return. But, if I go into a 



182 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

white Man's House at Albany, and ask for Victuals and 
Drink, they say, ^Where is your Money?' and if I have 
none, they say, ^Get out, you Indian Dog.' You see they 
have not yet learned those little Good Things, that we 
need no Meetings to be instructed in, because our Mothers 
taught them to us when we were Children; and therefore 
it is impossible their Meetings should be, as they say, for 
any such purpose, or have any such Effect; they are only 
to contrive the Cheating of Indians in the Price of 
Beaver/' 

Note. — It is remarkable that in all Agres and Countries Hos- 
pitality has been allow'd as the Virtue of those whom the 
civiliz'd were pleas'd to call Barbarians. The Greeks 
celebrated the Scythians for it. The Saracens possess'd 
it eminently, and it is to this day the reigning Virtue of 
the wild Arabs. St. Paul, too, in the Relation of his 
Voyage and Shipwreck on the Island of Melita says the 
Barbarous People shewed us no little kindness; for they 
kindled a fire, and received us every one, because of the 
present Rain, and because of the Cold. [1784?] 

A PETITION OF THE LEFT HAND, 

TO THOSE WHO HAVE THE SUPERINTENDENCY OF EDUCATION 

I address myself to all the friends of youth, and conjure 
them to direct their compassionate regards to my unhappy 
fate, in order to remove the prejudices of which I am the 
victim. There are twin sisters of us; and the two eyes of 
man do not more resemble, nor are capable of being upon 
better terms with each other, than my sister and myseK, 
were it not for the partiality of our parents, who make the 
most injurious distinctions between us. From my in- 
fancy, I have been led to consider my sister as a being of 
a more elevated rank. I was suffered to grow up without 
the least instruction, while nothing was spared in her edu- 
cation. She had masters to teach her writing, drawing, 
music, and other accomplishments; but if by chance I 
touched a pencil, a pen, or a needle, I was bitterly rebuked ; 
and more than once I have been beaten for being awk- 
ward, and wanting a graceful manner. It is true, my 
sister associated me with her upon some occasions; but 
she always made a point of taking the lead, calling upon 
me only from necessity, or to figure by her side. 

But conceive not, Sirs, that my complaints are insti- 



AET OF PEOCUKING PLEASANT DEEAMS 183 

gated merely by vanity. No ; my uneasiness is occasioned 
by an object much more serious. It is the practice in our 
family, that the whole business of providing for its sub- 
sistence falls upon my sister and myself. If any indispo- 
sition should attack my sister, — and I mention it in con- 
fidence upon this occasion, that she is subject to the gout, 
the rheumatism, and cramp, without making mention of 
other accidents, — what would be the fate of our poor 
family ? Must not the regret of our parents be excessive, 
at having placed so great a difference between sisters who 
are so perfectly equal? Alas! we must perish from dis- 
tress; for it would not be in my power even to scrawl a 
suppliant petition for relief, having been obliged to em- 
ploy the hand of another in transcribing the request which 
I have now the honour "to prefer to you. 

Condescend, Sirs, to make my parents sensible of the 
injustice of an exclusive tenderness, and of the necessity 
of distributing their care and affection among all their 
children equally. I am, with a profound respect. Sirs, 
your obedient servant, 

The Left Hand. 

[?] 
THE AET OF PEOCUEING PLEASANT DEEAMS 

INSCRIBED TO MISS [SHIPLEY], BEING WRITTEN AT HER 

REQUEST 

As a great part of our life is spent in sleep during 
which we have sometimes pleasant and sometimes painful 
dreams, it becomes of some consequence to obtain the one 
kind and avoid the other; for whether real or imaginary, 
pain is pain and pleasure is pleasure. If we can sleep 
without dreaming, it is well that painful dreams are 
avoided. If while we sleep we can have any pleasing 
dream, it is, as the French say, autant de gagne, so much 
added to the pleasure of life. 

To this end it is, in the first place, necessary to be 
careful in preserving health, by due exercise and great 
temperance; for, in sickness, the imagination is disturbed, 
and disagreeable, sometimes terrible, ideas are apt to pre- 
sent themselves. Exercise should precede meals, not im- 
mediately follow them ; the first promotes, the latter, unless 
moderate, obstructs digestion. If, after exercise, we feed 



184 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

sparingly, the digestion will be easy and good, the body 
lightsome, the temper cheerful, and all the animal func- 
tions performed agreeably. Sleep, when it follows, will be 
natural and undisturbed; while indolence, with full feed- 
ing, occasions nightmares and horrors inexpressible; we 
fall frora precipices, are assaulted by wild beasts, mur- 
derers, and demons, and experience every variety of dis- 
tress. Observe, however, that the quantities of food and 
exercise are relative things; those who move much may, 
and indeed ought to eat more; those who use little exer- 
cise should eat little. In general, mankind, since the im- 
provement of cookery, eat about twice as much as nature 
requires. Suppers are not bad, if we have not dined; but 
restless nights naturally follow hearty suppers after full 
dinners. Indeed, as there is a difference in constitutions, 
some rest well after these meals; it costs them only a 
frightful dream and an apoplexy, after which they sleep 
till doomsday. Nothing is more common in the news- 
papers, than instances of people who, after eating a hearty 
supper, are found dead abed in the morning. 

Another means of preserving health, to be attended to, 
is the having a constant supply of fresh air in your bed- 
chamber. It has been a great mistake, the sleeping in 
rooms exactly closed, and in beds surrounded by curtains. 
No outward air that may come in to you is so unwhole- 
some as the unchanged air, often breathed, of a close 
chamber. As boiling water does not grow hotter by longer 
boiling, if the particles that receive greater heat can 
escape; so living bodies do not putrefy, if the particles, so 
fast as they become putrid, can be thrown off. Nature 
expels them by the pores of the skin and the lungs, and in 
a free, open air they are carried off; but in a close room 
we receive them again and again, though they become 
more and more corrupt. A number of persons crowded 
into a small room thus spoil the air in a few minutes, and 
even render it mortal, as in the Black Hole at Calcutta. 
A single person is said to spoil only a gallon of air per 
minute, and therefore requires a longer time to spoil a 
chamber-full; but it is done, however, in proportion, and 
many putrid disorders hence have their origin. It is re- 
corded of Methusalem, who, being the longest liver, may 
be supposed to have best preserved his health, that he 
slept always in the open air; for, when he had lived five 



ART OF PEOGUEING PLEASANT DEEAMS 185 

hundred years, an angel said to him : ^^Arise, Methusalem, 
and build thee an house, for thou shalt live yet five hun- 
dred years longer/^ But Methusalem answered, and said, 
^^If I am to live but five hundred years longer, it is not 
worth while to build me an house; I will sleep in the air, 
as I have been used to do." Physicians, after having for 
ages contended that the sick should not be indulged with 
fresh air, have at length discovered that it may do them 
good. It is therefore to be hoped, that they may in time 
discover likewise, that it is not hurtful to those who are in 
health, and that we may be then cured of the aerophobia, 
that at present distresses weak minds, and makes them 
choose to be stifled and poisoned, rather than leave open 
the window of a bed-chamber, or put down the glass of a 
coach. 

Confined air, when saturated with perspirable matter, 
will not receive more; and that matter must remain in 
our bodies, and occasion diseases; but it gives some pre- 
vious notice of its being about to be hurtful, by producing 
certain uneasiness, slight indeed at first, which as with re- 
gard to the lungs is a trifling sensation, and to the pores 
of the skin a kind of restlessness, which is difficult to 
describe, and few that feel it know the cause of it. But 
we may recollect, that sometimes on waking in the night, 
we have, if warmly covered, found it difficult to get asleep 
again. We turn often without finding repose in any posi- 
tion. This fidgettiness (to use a vulgar expression for 
want of a better) is occasioned wholly by an uneasiness in 
the skin, owing to the retention of the perspirable matter 
— the bed-clothes having received their quantity, and, 
being saturated, refusing to take any more. To become 
sensible of this by an experiment, let a person keep his 
position in the bed, but throw off the bedclothes, and 
suffer fresh air to approach the part uncovered of his 
body; he will then feel that part suddenly refreshed; for 
the air will immediately relieve the skin, by receiving, 
licking up, and carrying off, the load of perspirable matter 
that incommoded it. For every portion of cool air that 
approaches the warm skin, in receiving its part of that 
vapour, receives therewith a degree of heat that rarefies 
and renders it lighter, when it will be pushed away with 
its burthen, by cooler and therefore heavier fresh air, 
which for a moment supplies its place, and then, being 



186 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

likewise elianged and warmed, gives way to a succeeding 
quantity. This is the order of nature, to prevent animals 
being infected by their own perspiration. He will now be 
sensible of the difference between the part exposed to the 
air and that which, remaining sunk in the bed, denies the 
air access ; for this part now manifests its uneasiness more 
distinctly by the comparison, and the seat of the uneasi- 
ness is more plainly perceived than when the whole sur- 
face of the body was affected by it. 

Here, then, is one great and general cause of unpleasing 
dreams. For when the body is uneasy, the mind will be 
disturbed by it, and disagreeable ideas of various kinds 
will in sleep be the natural consequences. The remedies, 
preventive and curative, follow: 

1. By eating moderately (as before advised for health's 
sake) less perspirable matter is produced in a given time; 
hence the bed-clothes receive it longer before they are 
saturated, and we may therefore sleep longer before we are 
made uneasy by their refusing to receive any more. 

2. By using thinner and more porous bed-clothes, which 
will suffer the perspirable matter more easily to pass 
through them, we are less incommoded, such being longer 
tolerable. 

3. When you are awakened by this uneasiness, and find 
you cannot easily sleep again, get out of bed, beat up and 
turn your pillow, shake the bed-clothes well, with at least 
twenty shakes, then throw the bed open and leave it to 
cool; in the meanwhile, continuing undrest, walk about 
your chamber till your skin has had time to discharge its 
load, which it will do sooner as the air may be dried and 
colder. When you begin to feel the cold air unpleasant, 
then return to your bed, and you will soon fall asleep, and 
your sleep will be sweet and pleasant. All the scenes pre- 
sented to your fancy will be too of the pleasing kind. I 
am often as agreeably entertained with them, as by the 
scenery of an opera. If you happen to be too indolent 
to get out of bed, you may, instead of it, lift up your bed- 
clothes with one arm and leg, so as to draw in a good deal 
of fresh air, and by letting them fall force it out again. 
This, repeated twenty times, will so clear them of the 
perspirable matter they have imbibed, as to permit your 
sleeping well for some time afterwards. But this latter 
method is not equal to the former. 



MOTION FOE PKATEES IN CONVENTION 187 

Those who do not love trouble, and can afford to have 
two beds, will find great luxury in rising, when they 
wake in a hot bed, and going into the cool one. Such 
shifting of beds would also be of great service to persons 
ill of a fever, as it refreshes and frequently procures sleep. 
A very large bed, that will admit a removal so distant 
from the first situation as to be cool and sweet, may in a 
degree answer the same end. 

One or two observations more will conclude this little 
piece. Care must be taken, when you lie down, to dispose 
your pillow so as to suit your manner of placing your 
head, and to be perfectly easy ; then place your limbs so as 
not to bear inconveniently hard upon one another, as, for 
instance, the joints of your ankles; for, though a bad 
position may at first give but little pain and be hardly 
noticed, yet a continuance will render it less tolerable, 
and the uneasiness may come on while you are asleep, and 
disturb your imagination. These are the rules of the art. 
But, though they will generally prove effectual in pro- 
ducing the end intended, there is a case in which the 
most punctual observance of them will be totally fruit- 
less. I need not mention the case to you, my dear friend, 
but my account of the art would be imperfect without it. 
The case is, when the person who desires to have pleasant 
dreams has not taken care to preserve, what is necessary 
above all things, 

A Good Conscience. 
[1Y86.] 

MOTION FOE PEAYEES IN THE CONVENTION 

Mr. President, 

The small Progress we have made, after 4 or 5 Weeks' 
close Attendance and continual Eeasonings with each 
other, our different Sentiments on almost every Question, 
several of the last producing as many Noes as Ayes, is, 
methinks, a melancholy Proof of the Imperfection of the 
Human Understanding. We indeed seem to feel our own 
want of political Wisdom, since v/e have been running all 
about in Search of it. We have gone back to ancient 
History for Models of Government, and examined the dif- 
ferent Forms of those Eepublics, which, having been 
originally form'd with the Seeds of their own Dissolution, 
now no longer exist ; and we have view'd modem States all 



188 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

round Europe, but find none of their Constitutions suit- 
able to our Circumstances. 

In this Situation of this Assembly, groping, as it were, 
in the dark to find Political Truth, and scarce able to dis- 
tinguish it when presented to us, how has it happened. Sir, 
that we have not hitherto once thought of humbly ap- 
plying to the Eather of Lights to illuminate our Under- 
standings ? In the Beginning of the Contest with Britain, 
when we were sensible of Danger, we had daily Prayers 
in this Room for the Divine Protection. Our Prayers, 
Sir, were heard; — and they were graciously answered. 
All of us, who were engag'd in the Struggle, must have 
observed frequent Instances of a superintending Provi- 
dence in our Favour. To that kind Providence we owe 
this happy Opportunity of Consulting in Peace on the 
Means of establishing our future national Felicity. And 
have we now forgotten that powerful Friend? or do we 
imagine we no longer need its assistance? I have lived. 
Sir, a long time; and the longer I live, the more con- 
vincing proofs I see of this Truth, that God governs in the 
Affairs of Men. And if a Sparrow cannot fall to the 
Ground without His Notice, is it probable that an Empire 
can rise without his Aid? We have been assured. Sir, in 
the Sacred Writings, that "except the Lord build the 
House, they labour in vain that build it.'^ I firmly be- 
lieve this ; and I also believe, that, without his concurring 
Aid, we shall succeed in this political Building no better 
than the Builders of Babel; we shall be divided by our 
little, partial, local Interests, our Projects will be con- 
founded, and we ourselves shall become a Peproach and 
a Bye-word down to future Ages. And, what is worse. 
Mankind may hereafter, from this unfortunate Instance, 
despair of establishing Government by human Wisdom, 
and leave it to Chance, War, and Conquest. 

I therefore beg leave to move, 

That henceforth Prayers, imploring the Assistance of 
Heaven and its Blessings on our Deliberations, be held 
in this Assembly every morning before we proceed to Busi- 
ness; and that one or more of the Clergy of this city be 
requested to officiate in that Service.^ 

[28 June, 1787.] 

^Note hp FranJcUn. — The convention, except three or four per- 
sons, thought prayers unnecessary ! 



TO EDITOE or THE FEDEKAL GAZETTE 18^ 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE FEDERAL GAZETTE 

A COMPARISON OF THE CONDUCT OF THE ANCIENT JEWS AND 
OP THE ANTI-FEDERALISTS IN THE UNITED STATES OP 
AMERICA 

A zealous Advocate for the propos'd Federal Constitu- 
tion, in a certain public Assembly, said, that ^^the Repug- 
nance of a great part of Mankind to good Government was 
such, that he believed, that, if an angel from Heaven was 
to bring down a Constitution form'd there for our Use, it 
would nevertheless meet with violent Opposition/^ He 
was reproved for the supposed Extravagance of the Senti- 
ment; and he did not justify it. Probably it might not 
have immediately occur'd to him, that the Experiment 
had been try'd, and that the Event was recorded in the 
most faithful of all Histories, the Holy Bible; otherwise 
he might, as it seems to me, have supported his Opinion 
by that unexceptionable Authority. 

The Supreme Being had been pleased to nourish up a 
single Family, by continued Acts of his attentive Provi- 
dence, till it became a great People; and, having rescued 
them from Bondage by many Miracles, performed by his 
Servant Moses, he personally delivered to that chosen 
Servant, in the presence of the whole Nation, a Constitu- 
tion and Code of Laws for their Observance ; accompanied 
and sanctioned with Promises of great Rewards and 
Threats of severe Punishments, as the Consequence of 
their Obedience or Disobedience. 

This Constitution, tho' the Deity himself was to be at 
its Head (and it is therefore calFd by Political Writers a 
Theocracy), could not be carried into Execution but by 
the Means of his Ministers; Aaron and his Sons were 
therefore commissioned to be, with Moses, the first estab- 
lished Ministry of the new Government. 

One would have thought, that this Appointment of Men, 
who had distinguish'd themselves in procuring the Lib- 
erty of their Nation, and had hazarded their Lives in 
openly opposing the Will of a powerful Monarch, who 
would have retain'd that Nation in Slavery, might have 
been an Appointment acceptable to a grateful People; 
and that a Constitution fram'd for them by the Deity 



190 BENJAMIN FKANKLIN 

himself might, on that Account, have been secure of a 
universal welcome Reception. Yet there were in every 
one of the thirteen Tribes some discontented, restless 
Spirits, who were continually exciting them to reject the 
proposed new Government, and this from various Motives. 
Many still retained an Affection for Egypt, the Land of 
their Nativity; and these, whenever they felt any In- 
convenience or Hardship, tho' the natural and unavoid- 
able Effect of their Change of Situation, exclaim'd against 
their Leaders as the Authors of their Trouble; and were 
not only for returning into Egypt, but for stoning their 
deliverers.^ Those inclined to idolatry were displeas'd 
that their Golden Calf was destroyed. Many of the Chiefs 
thought the new Constitution might be injurious to their 
particular Interests, that the profitahle Places would be 
engrossed hy the Families and Friends of Moses and 
Aaron^ and others equally well-born excluded.^ In Jo- 
sephus and the Talmud, we learn some Particulars, not so 
fully narrated in the Scripture. We are there told, "That 
Corah was ambitious of the Priesthood, and offended that 
it was conferred on Aaron; and this, as he said, by the 
Authority of Moses only, without the Consent of the Peo- 
ple, He accus'd Moses of having, by various Artifices, 
fraudulently obtained the Government, and deprived the 
People of their Liberties ; and of conspiring with Aaron to 
perpetuate the Tyranny in their Eamily. Thus, tho' 
Corah's real Motive was the Supplanting of Aaron, he 
persuaded the People that he meant only the Public Good; 
and they, moved by his Insinuations, began to cry out, 
^Let us maintain the Common Liberty of our respective 
Tribes; we have freed ourselves from the Slavery impos'd 
on us by the Egyptians, and shall we now suffer ourselves 
to be made Slaves by Moses ? If we must have a Master, 
it were better to return to Pharaoh, who at least fed us 
with Bread and Onions, than to serve this new Tyrant, 
who by his Operations has brought us into Danger of 
Famine.' Then they called in question the Reality of his 
Conference with God; and objected the Privacy of the 



1 Numbers, ch. xiv. 

2 Numbers, ch. xiv, verse 8. "And they gathered themselves to- 
gether against Moses and Aaron, and said unto them, *Ye take too 
much upon you, seeing all the congregation are holy, every one of 
them; wherefore, then, lift ye up yourselves above the congrega- 
tion?' " 



TO EDITOK OF THE EEDEEAL GAZETTE 191 

Meetings, and the preventing any of the People from heing 
present at the Colloquies, or even approaching the Place, 
as Grounds of great Suspicion. They accused Moses also of 
Peculation; as embezzling part of the Golden Spoons and 
the Silver Chargers, that the Princes had offer'd at the 
Dedication of the Altar,^ and the Offerings of Gold by 
the common People,^ as well as most of the Poll-Tax ; ^ 
and Aaron they accused of pocketing much of the Gold of 
which he pretended to have made a molten Calf. Be- 
sides Peculation, they charged Moses with Amhition; to 
gratify which Passion he had, they said, deceived the 
People, by promising to bring them to a land flowing with 
Milk and Honey; instead of doing which, he had brought 
them from such a Land; and that he thought light of all 
this mischief, provided he could make himself an abso- 
lute Prince.^ That, to support the new Dignity with 
Splendor in his Eamily, the partial Poll-Tax already 
levied and given to Aaron ^ was to be followed by a gen- 
eral one,"^ which would probably be augmented from time 
to time, if he were suffered to go on promulgating new 
Laws, on pretence of new occasional Revelations of the 
divine Will, till their whole Fortunes were devoured by 
that Aristocracy." 

Moses deny'd the Charge of Peculation; and his Ac- 
cusers were destitute of Proofs to support it; tho' Facts, 
if real, are in their Nature capable of Proof. ^T have 
not,'^ said he (with holy Confidence in the Presence of 
his God), ^^I have not taken from this People the value of 
an Ass, nor done them any other Injury." But his Ene- 
mies had made the Charge, and with some Success among 
the Populace; for no kind of Accusation is so readily 
made, or easily believ'd, by Knaves as the Accusation of 
Knavery. 

In fine, no less than two hundred and fifty of the prin- 
cipal Men, "famous in the Congregation, Men of Re- 
nown," "^ heading and exciting the Mob, worked them up 
to such a pitch of Frenzy, that they called out, "Stone 

r — — — ^ 

^ Numbers, ch. vii. 

2 Exodus, ch. XXXV, verse 22. 

3 Numbers, ch. iii, and Exodus, ch. xxx. 

* Numbers, ch. xvi, verse 13. "Ts it a small thing that thou hast 
brought us up out of a land that floweth with milk and honey, 
to kill us in the wilderness, except thou make thyself altogether 
a prince over us?" 

* Numbers, ch. iii. <^ Exodus, ch. xxx. ^ Numbers, ch. xvi. 



192 BENJAMIN FKANEXIN 

'em, stone ^em, and thereby secure our Liberties; and let 
■us clnise other Captains, that may lead ns back into 
Egypt, in ease we do not succeed in reducing the Canaan- 
ites V' 

On the whole, it appears, that the Israelites were a 
People jealous of their newly-acquired Liberty, which 
Jealousy was in itself no Fault; but, when they suffered 
it to be work'd upon by artful Men, pretending Public 
Good, with nothing really in view but private Interest, 
they were led to oppose the Establishment of the New 
Constitution, whereby they brought upon themselves much 
Inconvenience and Misfortune. It appears, further, from 
the same inestimable History, that, when after many 
Ages that Constitution was become old and much abus'd, 
and an Amendment of it was proposed, the populace, as 
they had accus'd Moses of the Ambition of making him- 
self a Prince, and cried out, "Stone him, stone him;" so, 
excited by their High Priests and Scribes, they exclaim'd 
against the Messiah, that he aim'd at becoming King of 
the Jews, and cry'd out, ^'Crucify him, Crucify himf 
From all which we may gather, that popular Opposition 
to a public Measure is no Proof of its Impropriety, even 
tho' the Opposition be excited and headed by Men of 
Distinction. 

To conclude, I beg I may not be understood to infer, 
that our General Convention was divinely inspired, when 
it form'd the new federal Constitution, merely because 
that Constitution has been unreasonably and vehemently 
opposed; yet I must own I have so much Faith in the 
general Government of the world by Providence, that I 
can hardly Qonceive a Transaction of such momentous 
Importance to the Welfare of Millions now existing, and 
to exist in the Posterity of a great Nation, should be suf- 
fered to pass without being in some degree influenc'd, 
guided, and governed by that omnipotent, omnipresent, 
and beneficent Ruler, in whom all inferior Spirits live, 
and move, and have their Being. B. F. 

[1788.] 



THE STJPEEMEST COURT OF JUDICATUEE 193 



AN ACCOUNT OF THE SUPREMEST COURT OF 

JUDICATURE IN PENNSYLVANIA, VIZ. 

THE COURT OF THE PRESS 

Power of this Court 

It may receive and promulgate accusations of all kinds, 
against all persons and characters among the citizens of 
the State, and even against all inferior courts; and may 
judge, sentence, and condemn to infamy, not only private 
individuals, but public bodies, &c., with or without inquiry 
or hearing, at the court's discretion. 

In whose Favour and for whose Emolument this Court is 

established 

In favour of about one citizen in five hundred, who, by 
education or practice in scribbling, has acquired a toler- 
able style as to grammar and construction, so as to bear 
printing; or who is possessed of a press and a few types. 
This five hundredth part of the citizens have the privi- 
lege of accusing and abusing the other four hundred and 
ninety-nine parts at their pleasure; or they may hire out 
their pens and press to others for that purpose. 

Practice of the Court 

It is not governed by any of the rules of common courts 
of law. The accused is allowed no grand jury to judge 
of the truth of the accusation before it is publicly made, 
nor is the Name of the Accuser made known to him, nor 
has he an Opportunity of confronting the Witnesses 
against him; for they are kept in the dark, as in the 
Spanish Court of Inquisition. Nor is there any petty 
Jury of his Peers, sworn to try the Truth of the Charges. 
The Proceedings are also sometimes so rapid, that an 
honest, good Citizen may find himself suddenly and un- 
expectedly accus'd, and in the same Morning judg'd and 
condemn'd, and sentence pronounced against him, that he 
is a Rogue and a Villain, Yet, if an officer of this court 
receives the slightest check for misconduct in this his of- 
fice, he claims immediately the rights of a free citizen 



194: BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

by the constitution, and demands to know his accuser, to 
confront the witnesses, and to have a fair trial by a jury 
of his peers. 

The Foundation of its Authority 

It is said to be founded on an Article of the Constitu- 
tion of the State, which establishes the Liherty of the 
Press; a Liberty which every Pennsylvanian would fight 
and die for; tho' few of us, I believe, have distinct Ideas 
of its Nature and Extent. It seems indeed somewhat like 
the Liherty of the Press that Eelons have, by the Com- 
mon Law of England, before Conviction, that is, to be 
pressed to death or hanged. If by the Liherty of the Press 
were understood merely the Liberty of discussing the 
Propriety of Public Measures and political opinions, let 
us have as much of it as you please : But if it means the 
Liberty of affronting, calunmiating, and defaming one 
another, I, for my part, own myself willing to part with 
my Share of it when our Legislators shall please so to 
alter the Law, and shall cheerfully consent to exchange 
my Liherty of Abusing others for the Privilege of not 
being abus'd myself. 

By whom this Court is commissioned or constituted 

It is not by any Commission from the Supreme Exec- 
utive Council, who might previously judge of the Abil- 
ities, Integrity, Knowledge, &c. of the Persons to be ap- 
pointed to this great Trust, of deciding upon the Char- 
acters and good Fame of the Citizens; for this Court is 
above that Council, and may accuse, judge, and condemn 
it, at pleasure. Nor is it hereditary, as in the Court of 
dernier Resort, in the Peerage of England. But any 
Man who can procure Pen, Ink, and Paper, with a Press, 
and a huge pair of Blacking Balls, may commissionate 
himself; and his court is immediately established in the 
plenary Possession and exercise of its rights. For, if 
you make the least complaint of the judge's conduct, he 
daubs his blacking balls in your face wherever he meets 
you; and, besides tearing your private character to flit- 
ters, marks you out for the odium of the public, as an 
enemy to the liherty of the press. 



THE STIPEEMEST COUKT OF JUDICATUEE 195 
Of the natural Support of these Courts 

Their support is founded in the depravity of such 
minds, as have not been mended by religion, nor improved 
by good education; 

"There is a Lust in Man no Charm can tame, 
Of loudly publishing his Neighbour's Shame." 

Hence; 

"On Eagle's Wings immortal Scandals fly, 
While virtuous Actions are but born and die." 

Deyden. 

Whoever feels pain in hearing a good character of his 
neighbour, will feel a pleasure in the reverse. And of 
those who, despairing to rise into distinction by their 
virtues, are happy if others can be depressed to a level 
with themselves, there are a number sufficient in every 
great town to maintain one of these courts by their sub- 
scriptions. A shrewd observer once said, that, in walking 
the streets in a slippery morning, one might see where 
the good-natured people lived by the ashes thrown on the 
ice before their doors; probably he would have formed a 
different conjecture of the temper of those whom he 
might find engaged in such a subscription. 

Of the ChecTcs proper to he estahlished against the Abuse 
of Power in these Courts 

Hitherto there are none. But since so much has been 
written and published on the federal Constitution, and the 
necessity of checks in all other parts of good government 
has been so clearly and learnedly explained, I find myself 
so far enlightened as to suspect some check may be proper 
in this part also ; but I have been at a loss to imagine any 
that may not be construed an infringement of the sacred 
liberty of the press. At length, however, I think I have 
found one that, instead of diminishing general liberty, 
shall augment it; which is, by restoring to the people a 
species of liberty, of which they have been deprived by 
our laws, I mean the liberty of the cudgel. In the rude 
state of society prior to the existence of laws, if one man 
gave another ill language, the affronted person would re- 
turn it by a box on the ear, and, if repeated, by a good 



196 , BENJAMIN FKANEXIN 

drubbing; an3 this without offending against any law. 
But now the right of making such returns is denied, and 
they are punished as breaches of the peace; while the 
right of abusing seems to remain in full force, the laws 
made against it being rendered ineffectual by the liberty 
of the press. 

My proposal then is, to leave the liberty of the press 
untouched, to be exercised in its full extent, force, and 
vigor; but to permit the liberty of the cudgel to go with it 
pari passu. Thus, my fellow-citizens, if an impudent 
writer attacks your reputation, dearer to you perhaps than 
your life, and puts his name to the charge, you may go to 
him as openly and break his head. If he conceals himself 
behind the printer, and you can nevertheless discover who 
he is, you may in like manner way-lay him in the night, 
attack him behind, and give him a good drubbing. Thus 
far goes my project as to private resentment and retribu- 
tion. But if the public should ever happen to be' af- 
fronted, as it ought to be, with the conduct of such writ- 
ers, I would not advise proceeding immediately to these 
extremities; but that we should in moderation content 
ourselves with tarring and feathering, and tossing them 
in a blanket. 

If, however, it should be thought that this proposal of 
mine may disturb the public peace, I would then humbly 
recommend to our legislators to take up the consideration 
of both liberties, that of the press, and that of the cudgel, 
and by an explicit law mark their extent and limits; and, 
at the same time that they secure the person of a citizen 
from assaults, they would likewise provide for the secur- 
ity of his reputation. 

[Federal Gazette, 12 September, 1789.] 

TO EZEA STILES 

Philad% March 9, 1790. 

Reverend and dear Sir, 

I received your kind Letter of JanV 28, and am glad 
you have at length received the portrait of Gov'r Yale 
from his Family, and deposited it in the College Library. 
He was a great and good Man, and had the Merit of 
doing infinite Service to your Country by his Munificence 



TO EZKA STILES 197 

to that Institiftion. The Honour you propose doing me 
by placing mine in the same Eoom with his, is much too 
great for my Deserts ; but you always had a Partiality for 
me, and to that it must be ascribed. I am however too 
much obliged to Tale College, the first learned Society 
that took Notice of me and adorned me with its Honours, 
to refuse a Request that comes from it thro' so esteemed 
a Friend. But I do not think any one of the Portraits 
you mention, as in my Possession, worthy of the Place 
and Company you propose to place it in. You have an 
excellent Artist lately arrived. If he will undertake to 
make one for you, I shall cheerfully pay the Expence; 
but he must not delay setting about it, or I may slip 
thro' his fingers, for I am now in my eighty-fifth year, 
and very infirm. 

I send with this a very learned Work, as it seems to me, 
on the antient Samaritan Coins, lately printed in Spain, 
and at least curious for the Beauty of the Impression. 
Please to accept it for your College Library. I have sub- 
scribed for the Encyclopaedia now printing here, with the 
Intention of presenting it to the College. I shall probably 
depart before the Work is finished, but shall leave Direc- 
tions for its Continuance to the End. With this you will 
receive some of the first numbers. 

You desire to know something of my Religion. It is 
the first time I have been questioned upon it. But I can- 
not take your Curiosity amiss, and shall endeavour in a 
few Words to gratify it. Here is my Creed. I believe 
in one God, Creator of the Universe. That he governs it 
by his Providence. That he ought to be worshipped. 
That the most acceptable Service we render to him is 
doing good to his other Children. That the soul of Man 
is immortal, and will be treated with Justice in another 
Life respecting its Conduct in this. These I take to be 
the fundamental Principles of all sound Religion, and I 
regard them as you do in whatever Sect I meet with them. 

As to Jesus of Nazareth, my Opinion of whom you par- 
ticularly desire, I think the System of Morals and his 
Religion, as he left them to us, the best the World ever 
saw or is likely to see; but I apprehend it has received 
various corrupting Changes, and I have, with most of the 
present Dissenters in England, some Doubts as to his 
Divinity; tho' it is a question I do not dogmatize upon. 



198 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

having never studied it, and think it needless to busy 
myself with it now, when I expect soon an Opportunity 
of knowing the Truth with less Trouble. I see no harm, 
however, in its being believed, if that Belief has the good 
Consequence, as probably it has, of making his Doctrines 
more respected and better observed; especially as I do not 
perceive, that the Supreme takes it amiss, by distinguish- 
ing the Unbelievers in his Government of the World with 
any peculiar Marks of his Displeasure. 

I shall only add, respecting myself, that, having experi- 
enced the Goodness of that Being in conducting me pros- 
perously thro' a long life, I have no doubt of its Continu- 
ance in the next, though without the smallest Conceit of 
meriting such Goodness. My Sentiments on this Head 
you will see in the Copy of an old Letter enclosed, which 
I wrote in answer to one from a zealous Religionist, whom 
I had relieved in a paralytic case by electricity, and who, 
being afraid I should grow proud upon it, sent me his 
serious though rather impertinent Caution. I send you 
also the Copy of another Letter, which will shew some- 
thing of my Disposition relating to Beligion. With great 
and sincere Esteem and Affection, I am. Your obliged old 
[Friend and most obedient humble Servant 

B. Franklin. 

P. S. Had not your College some Present of Books 
from the King of France ? Please to let me know, if you 
had an Expectation given you of more, and the Nature of 
that Expectation? I have a Beason for the Enquiry. 

I confide, that you will not expose me to Criticism and 
censure by publishing any part of this Communication to 
you. I have ever let others enjoy their religious Senti- 
ments, without reflecting on them for those that appeared 
to me unsupportable and even absurd. All Sects here, 
and we have a great Variety, have experienced my good 
will in assisting them with Subscriptions for building 
their new Places of Worship; and, as I have never op- 
posed any of their Doctrines, I hope to go out of the World 
in Peace with them all. 



ON THE SLAVE-TEADE 199 
ON THE SLAVE-TRADE 

TO THE EDITOR OF THE FEDERAL GAZETTE 

March 23d, 1790. 
Sir, 

Reading last night in your excellent Paper the speech 
of Mr. Jackson in Congress against their meddling with 
the Affair of Slavery, or attempting to mend the Condi- 
tion of the Slaves, it put me in mind of a similar One 
made about 100 Years since by Sidi Mehemet Ibrahim, a 
member of the Divan of Algiers, which may be seen in 
Martin's Account of his Consulship, anno 1687. It was 
against granting the Petition of the Sect called Eriha, or 
Purists, who prayed for the Abolition of Piracy and Slav- 
ery as being unjust. Mr. Jackson does not quote it; per- 
haps he has not seen it. If, therefore, some of its Rea- 
sonings are to be found in his eloquent Speech, it may 
only show that men's Interests and Intellects operate and 
are operated on with surprising similarity in all Coun- 
tries and Climates, when under similar Circumstances. 
The African's Speech, as translated, is as follows. 

'^ Allah Bismillah, &c, God is great, and Mahomet is his 

Prophet 

^^Have these Eriha considered the Consequences of 
granting their Petition? If we cease our Cruises against 
the Christians, how shall we be furnished with the Com- 
modities their Countries produce, and which are so nec- 
essary for us? If we forbear to make Slaves of their 
People, who in this hot Climate are to cultivate our 
Lands ? Who are to perform the common Labours of our 
City, and in our Families? Must we not then be our 
own Slaves? And is there not more Compassion and 
more Favour due to us as Mussulmen, than to these Chris- 
tian Dogs? We have now above 60,000 Slaves in and 
near Algiers. This Number, if not kept up by fresh 
Supplies, will soon diminish, and be gradually annihilated. 
If we then cease taking and plundering the Infidel Ships, 
and making Slaves of the Seamen and Passengers, our 
Lands will become of no Yalue for want of Cultivation; 



200 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

the Rents of Houses in the City will sink one half; and 
the Revenues of Government arising from its Share of 
Prizes be totally destroyed! And for what? To gratify 
the whims of a whimsical Sect, who would have us, not 
only forbear making more Slaves, but even to manumit 
those we have. 

^^But who is to indemnify their Masters for the Loss? 
Will the State do it? Is our Treasury sufficient? Will 
the EriJca do it? Can they do it? Or would they, to do 
what they think Justice to the Slaves, do a greater Injus- 
tice to the Owners? And if we set our Slaves free, what 
is to be done with them? Few of them will return to 
their Countries ; they know too well the greater Hardships 
they must there be subject to; they will not embrace our 
holy Religion; they will not adopt our Manners; our 
People will not pollute themselves by intermarrying with 
them. Must we maintain them as Beggars in our Streets, 
or suffer our Properties to be the Prey of their Pillage? 
For Men long accustom'd to Slavery will not work for a 
Livelihood when not compell'd. And what is there so 
pitiable in their present Condition ? Were they not Slaves 
in their own Countries? 

"Are not Spain, Portugal, France, and the Italian states 
governed by Despots, who hold all their Subjects in Slav- 
ery, without Exception? Even England treats its Sailors 
as Slaves ; for they are, whenever the Government pleases, 
seiz'd, and confin'd in Ships of War, condemned not only 
to work, but to fight, for small Wages, or a mere Subsist- 
ence, not better than our Slaves are alloVd by us. Is 
their Condition then made worse by their falling into our 
Hands? No; they have only exchanged one Slavery for 
another, and I may say a better ; for here they are brought 
into a Land where the Sun of Islamism gives forth its 
Light, and shines in full Splendor, and they have an Op- 
portunity of making themselves acquainted with the true 
Doctrine, and thereby saving their immortal Souls. Those 
who remain at home have not that Happiness. Sending 
the Slaves home then would be sending them out of Light 
into Darkness. 

"I repeat the Question, What is to be done with them ? 
I have heard it suggested, that they may be planted in 
the Wilderness, where there is plenty of Land for them 
to subsist on, and where they may flourish as a free State; 



ON THE SLAVE-TRADE 201 

but they are, I doubt, too little disposed to labour without 
Compulsion, as well as too ignorant to establish a good 
government, and the wild Arabs would soon molest and 
destroy or again enslave them. While serving us, we take 
care to provide them with every thing, and they are treated 
with Humanity. The Labourers in their own Country 
are, as I am well informed, worse fed, lodged, and cloathed. 
The Condition of most of them is therefore already mend- 
ed, and requires no further Improvement. Here their 
Lives are in Safety. They are not liable to be impressed 
for Soldiers, and forc'd to cut one another's Christian 
Throats, as in the Wars of their own Countries. If some 
of the religious mad Bigots, who now teaze us with their 
silly Petitions, have in a Fit of blind Zeal freed their 
Slaves, it was not Generosity, it was not Humanity, that 
mov'd them to the Action; it was from the conscious 
Burthen of a Load of Sins, and Hope, from the sup- 
posed Merits of so good a Work, to be excus'd Dam- 
nation. 

^^How grossly are they mistaken in imagining Slavery 
to be disallowed by the Alcoran! Are not the two Pre- 
cepts, to quote no more, ^Masters, treat your Slaves with 
Jcindne^s; Slaves, serve your Masters with Cheerfulness 
and Fidelity/ clear Proofs to the contrary? Nor can the 
Plundering of Infidels be in that sacred Book forbidden, 
since it is well known from it, that God has given the 
World, and all that it contains, to his faithful Mussulmen, 
who are to enjoy it of Bight as fast as they conquer it. 
Let us then hear no more of this detestable Proposition, 
the Manumission of Christian Slaves, the Adoption of 
which would, by depreciating our Lands and Houses, and 
thereby depriving so many good Citizens of their Prop- 
erties, create universal Discontent, and provoke Insurrec- 
tions, to the endangering of Government and producing 
general Confusion. I have therefore no doubt, but this 
wise Council will prefer the Comfort and Happiness of a 
whole Nation of true Believers to the Whim of a few 
Erika, and dismiss their Petition." 

The Result 'was, as Martin tells us, that the Divan came 
to this Resolution; "The Doctrine, that Plundering and 
Enslaving the Christians is unjust, is at best prohlemat- 
teal; but that it is the Interest of this State to continue 



202 BENJAMIN FEANKLIN 

the Practice, is clear; therefore let the Petition be re- 
jected/^ 

And it was rejected accordingly. 

And since like Motives are apt to produce in the Minds 
of Men like Opinions and Resolutions, may we not, Mr. 
Brown, venture to predict, from this Account, that the 
Petitions to the Parliament of England for abolishing the 
Slave-Trade, to say nothing of other Legislatures, and 
the Debates upon them, will have a similar Conclusion? 
I am. Sir, your constant Reader and humble Servant, 

HiSTORICUS. 



JONATHAN EDWARDS 



JONATHAN EDWARDS 



THE FLYING SPIDEE 

May it please your Honour, 

There are some things that I have happily seen of the 
wondrous way of the working of the spider. Although 
every thing belonging to this insect is admirable, there 
are some phenomena relating to them more particularly 
wonderful. Every body that is used to the country, knows 
their marching in the air from one tree to another, some- 
times at the distance of five or six rods. Nor can one go 
out in a dewy morning, at the latter end of August and 
the beginning of September, but he shall see multitudes of 
webs, made visible by the dew that hangs on them, reach- 
ing from one tree, branch and shrub, to another: which 
webs are commonly thought to be made in the night, be- 
cause they appear only in the morning; whereas none of 
them are made in the night, for these spiders never come 
out in the night when it is dark, as the dew is then fall- 
ing. Tut these webs may be seen well enough in the day 
time by an observing eye, by their reflection in the sun- 
beams. Especially late in the afternoon, may these webs, 
that are between the eye and that part of the horizon that 
is under the sun, be seen very plainly, being advantage- 
ously posited to reflect the rays. And the spiders them- 
selves may be very often seen travelling in the air, from 
one stage to another amongst the trees, in a very unac- 
countable manner. But I have often seen that, which is 
much more astonishing. In very calm and serene days in 
the forementioned time of year, standing at some dis- 
tance behind the end of an house or some other opake 
body, so as just to hide the disk of the sun and keep off 
his dazzling rays, and looking along close by the side of 
it, I have seen a vast multitude of little shining webs, and 
glistening strings, brightly reflecting the sunbeams, and 
some of them of great length, and of such a height, that 
one would think they were tacked to the vault of the 

203 



204 



JONATHAN EDWAEDS 



heavens, and would be burnt like tow in the sun, and 
make a very beautiful, pleasing, as well as surprising ap- 
pearance. It is wonderful at what a distance, these webs 
may plainly be seen. Some that are at a great distance 
appear (it cannot be less than) several thousand times as 
big as they ought. I believe they appear under as great 
an angle, as a body of a foot diameter ought to do at such 
a distance; so greatly doth brightness increase the appar- 
ent bigness of bodies at a distance, as is observed of the 
fixed stars. 

But that which is most astonishing, is, that very often 
appears at the end of these webs, spiders sailing in the 
air with them; which I have often beheld with wonder- 
ment and pleasure, and showed to others. And since I 
have seen these things, I have been very conversant with 
spiders ; resolving if possible, to find out the mysteries of 
these their astonishing works. And I have been so happy 
as very frequently to see their manner of working; that 
when a spider would go from one tree to another, or 
would fly in the air, he first lets himself down a little way 




from the twig he stands on by a web, as in Fig. 1; and 
then, laying hold of it by his fore feet, and bearing him- 
self by that, puts out a web, as in Fig. 2, which is drawn 
out of his tail with infinite ease, in the gently moving 
air, to what length the spider pleases; and if the farther 
end happens to catch by a shrub or the branch of a tree, 
the spider immediately feels it, and fixes the hither end 



THE FLYING SPIDEK 205 

of it to the web by which he let himself down, and goes 
over by that web which he put out of his tail as in Fig. 3. 
And this, my eyes have innumerable times made me 
sure of. 

Now, Sir, it is certain that these webs, when they first 
proceed from the spider, are so rare a substance, that they 
are lighter than the air, because they will ascend in it, as 
they will immediately in a calm air, and never descend 
except driven by a wind ; wherefore ^tis certain. And 'tis 
as certain, that what swims and ascends in the air is light- 
er than the air, as that what ascends and swims in water 
is lighter than water. So that if we should suppose any 
such time, wherein the air is perfectly calm, this web is 
so easily drawn out of the spider's tail, that if the end of 
it be once out, barely the levity of it is sufficient to draw 
it out to any length ; wherefore if it don't happen that the 
end of this web, h c, catches by a tree or some other body, 
'till there is so long a web drawn out, that its levity shall 
be so great as more than to counterbalance the gravity of 
the spider, or so that the web and the spider, taken to- 
gether, shall be lighter than such a quantity of air as 
takes up equal space, then according to the universally 
acknowledged laws of nature, the web and the spider to- 
gether will ascend, and not desce:^d, in the air: as when a 
man is at the bottom of the water, if he has hold of a 
piece of timber so great, that the wood's tendency upwards 
is greater than the man's tendency downwards, he together 
with the wood will ascend to the surface of the water. 
And therefore, when the spider perceives that the web 
Z? c is long enough to bear him up by its ascending force, 
he lets go his hold of the web a h, Fig. 3, and ascends in 
the air with the web h c. If there be not web more than 
enough, just to counterbalance the gravity of the spider, 
the spider together with the web will hang in equilibrio, 
neither ascending nor descending, otherwise than as the 
air moves. But if there is so much web, that its greater 
levity shall more than equal the greater density of the 
spider, they will ascend till the air is so thin, that the 
spider and web together are just of an equal weight with 
so much air. And in this way, S«ir, I have multitudes of 
times seen spiders mount away into the air, from a stick 
in my hands, with a vast train of this silver web before 
them; for, if the spider be disturbed upon the stick by 



206 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

shaking of it, he will presently in this manner leave it. 
And their way of working may very distinctly be seen, if 
they are held up in the sun, or against a dark door, or any 
thing that is black. 

Now, Sir, the only remaining difficulty is, how they 
first put out the end of the web h c. Fig. 3, out of their 
tails. If once the web is out, it is easy to conceive how 
the levity of it, together with the motion of the air, may 
draw it out to a great length. But how should they first 
let out of their tails, the end of so fine and even a string; 
seeing that the web, while it is in the spider, is a certain 
cloudy liquor, with which that great bottle tail of theirs 
is filled; which immediately, upon its being exposed to 
the air, turns to a dry substance, and exceedingly rarifies 
and extends itself. Now if it be a liquor, it is hard to 
conceive how they should let out a fine even thread, with- 
out expelling a little drop at the end of it ; but none such 
can be discerned. But there is no need of this; for it is 
only separating that part of the web h c. Fig. 2, from a h, 
and the end of the web is already out. Indeed, Sir, I 
never could distinctly see them do this: so small a piece 
of web being imperceptible among the spider's legs. But 
I cannot doubt but that it is so, because there is a neces- 
sity that they should some way or other separate the web 
a h. Fig. 3, from their tails, before they can let out the 
web h c. And then I know they do have ways of dividing 
their webs by biting them ofi, or in some other way. 
Otherwise they could not separate themselves from the 
web a h, Fig. 3. 

And this. Sir, is the way of spiders going from one tree 
to another, at a great distance; and this is the way of 
their flying in the air. And, although I say I am certain 
of it, I don't desire that the truth of it should be received 
upon my word; though I could bring others to testify to 
it, to whom I have shown it, and who have looked on, with 
admiration, to see their manner of working. But every 
one's eyes, that will take the pains to observe, will make 
them as sure of it. Only those, that would make experi- 
ment, must take notice that it is not every sort of spider 
that is a flying spider, for those spiders that keep in 
houses are a quite different sort, as also those that keep 
in the ground, and those that keep in swamps, in hollow 
trees, and rotten logs; but those spiders, that keep on 



THE FLYING SPIDEE 207 

branches of trees and shrubs, are the flying* spiders. They 
delight most in walnut trees, and are that sort of spiders 
that make those curious network polygonal webs, that are 
so frequently to be seen in the latter end of the year. 
There are more of this sort of spiders by far than of any 
other. 

But yet, Sir, I am assured that the chief end of this 
faculty, that is given them, is not their recreation, but 
their destruction ; because their destruction is unavoidably 
the effect of it; and we shall find nothing, that is the con- 
tinual effect of nature, but what is of the means by which 
it is brought to pass. But it is impossible, but that the 
greatest part of the spiders upon the land should, every 
year, be swept into the ocean. For these spiders never 
fly, except the weather is fair and the atmosphere dry; 
but the atmosphere is never clear, neither in this nor any 
other continent, only when the wind blows from the 
midland parts, and consequently towards the sea. As 
here in New-England, the fair weather is only when the 
wind is westerly, the land being on that side, and the 
ocean on the easterly. And I never have seen any of 
these spiders flying, but when they have been hastening" 
directly towards the sea. And the time of their flying" 
being so long, even from about the middle of August every 
sunshiny day, until about the end of October; (though 
their chief time, as I observed before, is the latter end of 
August, and beginning- of September;) and they never 
flying from the sea, but always towards it ; must needs get 
there at last; for it's unreasonable to suppose that they 
have sense enough to stop themselves when they come 
near the sea ; for then they would have hundreds of times 
as many spiders upon the sea-shore, as any where else. 

The same also holds true of other sorts of flying in- 
sects; for at these times, that I have viewed the spiders 
with their webs in the air, there has also appeared vast 
multitudes of flies, and all flying the same way with the 
spiders and webs directly to the ocean; and even such as 
butterflies, millers and moths, which keep in the grass at 
this time of year, I have seen vastly higher than the tops 
of the highest trees, all going the same way. These I 
have seen towards evening, without such a screen to de- 
fend my eyes from the sunbeams; which I used to think 
were seeking a warmer climate. 



208 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

The reason of their flying at that time of year, I take 
to be because then the ground and trees, the places of 
their residence in summer, begin to be chilly and uncom- 
fortable. Therefore when the sun shines pretty warm 
they leave them, and mount up in the air, and expand 
their wings to the sun, and flying for nothing but their 
own ease and comfort, they suffer themselves to go that 
way, that they find they can go with the greatest ease, 
and so where the wind pleases ; and it being warmth they 
fly for, they find it cold and laborious flying against the 
wind. They therefore seem to use their wings, but just 
so much as to bear them up, and suffer them to go with 
the wind. So that without doubt almost all aerial in- 
sects, and also spiders which live upon trees and are made 
up of them, are at the end of the year swept away into the 
sea, and buried in the ocean, and leave nothing behind 
them, but their eggs, for a new stock the next year. 

[1715?] 

NOTES ON THE MIND 

[1.] EXCELLENCY. There has nothing been more 
without a definition, than Excellency; although it be 
what we are more concerned with, than any thing else 
whatsoever: yea, we are concerned with nothing else. But 
what is this Excellency? Wherein is one thing excellent, 
and another evil; one beautiful, and another deformed? 
Some have said that all Excellency is Harmony, Sym- 
Tneiry, or Proportion; but they have not yet explained it. 
We would know, Why Proportion is more excellent than 
Disproportion; that is, why Proportion is pleasant to the 
mind, and Disproportion unpleasant? Proportion is a 
thing that may be explained yet further. It is an Equal- 
ity, or Likeness of ratios; so that it is the Equality, that 
makes the Proportion. Excellency therefore seems to 
consist in Equality, Thus, if there be two perfect equal 
circles, or globes, together, there is something more of 
beauty than if they were of unequal, disproportionate mag- 
nitudes. And if two parallel lines be drawn, the beauty is 
greater, than if they were ohliquely inclined without pro- 
portion, because there is equality of distance. And if be- 
twixt two parallel lines, two equal circles be placed, each 
at the same distance from each parallel line, as in Fig. 1, 



NOTES ON THE MIND 209 

1 2 3 4 



o o 



o 
o 






o 





o 


o 






the beauty is greater, than if they stood at irregular dis- 
tances from the parallel lines. If they stand, each in a 
perpendicular line, going from the parallel lines, (Fig. 2,) 
it is requisite that they should each stand at an equal dis- 
tance from the perpendicular line next to them; other- 
wise there is no beauty. If there be three of these circles 
between two parallel lines, and near to a perpendicular line 
run between them, (Fig. 3,) the most beautiful form per- 
haps, that they could be placed in, is in an equilateral 
triangle with the cross line, because there are most equali- 
ties. The distance of the two next to the cross line h 
equal from that, and also equal from the parallel lines. 
The distance of the third from each parallel is equal, and 
its distance from each of the other two circles is equal, 
and is also equal to their distance from one another, and 
likewise equal to their distance from each end of the cross 
line. There are two equilateral triangles: one made by 
the three circles, and the other made by the cross line and 
two of the sides of the first protracted till they meet that 
line. And if there be another like it, on the opposite side, 
to correspond with it and it be taken altogether, the beauty 
is still greater, where the distances from the lines, in the 
one, are equal to the distances in the other; also the two 
next to the cross lines are at equal distances from the 
other two ; or, if you go crosswise, from corner to corner. 
The two cross lines are also parallel, so that all parts are 
at an equal distance, and innumerable other equalities 
might be found. 

. This simple Equality, without Proportion, is the lowest 
kind of Eegularity, and may be called Simple Beauty. 
All other beauties and excellencies may be resolved into it. 
Proportion is Complex Beauty. Thus, if we suppose that 
there are two points, A B, placed at two inches distance, 
and the next, C, one inch farther; (Fig. 1,) 

Fig. 1. Fig. 2. 

i ( ( 

A B C D ABC 



210 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

it is requisite, in order to regularity and beauty, if there 
be another, D, that it should be at half an inch distance; 
otherwise there is no regularity, and the last, D, would 
stand out of its proper place; because now the relation 
that the space D, bears to B 0, is equal to the relation 
that B C, bears to A B; so that B C D, is exactly similar 
to A B C. It is evident, this is a more complicated excel- 
lency than that which consisted in Equality, because the 
terms of the relation are here complex, and before were 
simple. When there are three points set in a right line, it 
is requisite, in order to regularity, that they should be set 
at an equal distance, as A B C, (Fig. 2,) where A B, is 
similar to B 0, or the relation of C to B, is the same as of 
B to A. But in the other are three terms necessary in 
each of the parts, between which, is the relation, BCD, 
is as A B : so that here more simple beauties are omit- 
ted, and yet there is a general complex beauty: that is, 
B is not as A B, nor is C D as B C, but yet, B C D is 
as A B 0. It is requisite that the consent or regularity 
of D to B 0, be omitted, for the sake of the harmony of 
the whole. For although, if C D was perfectly equal to 
B C, there would be regularity and beauty with respect to 
them two ; yet, if A B be taken into the idea, there is noth- 
ing but confusion. And it might be requisite, if these 
stood with others, even to omit this proposition, for the 
sake of one more complex still. Thus, if they stood with 
other points, where B stood at four inches distance from 
A, C at two from B, and D at six from C : the place where 
D must stand in, if A, B, C, D, were alone, viz. one inch 
from 0, must be so as to be made proportionate with the 
other points beneath; 

ABC D 

I ' I ' I • I ' I • I ' I 

I I I I I I I . I I I I I I I I I . I I I I I I I 
A B C D 

So that although A, B, C, D, are not proportioned, but are 
confusion among themselves; yet taken with the whole 
they are proportioned and beautiful. 

All beauty consists in similarness or identity of rela- 
tion. In identity of relation consists all likeness, and all 
identity between two consists in identity of relation. 
Thus, when the distance between two is exactly equal. 



NOTES ON THE MIND 211 

their distance is their relation one to another, the distance 
is the same, the bodies are two; wherefore this is their 
correspondency and beauty. So bodies exactly of the same 
figure, the bodies are two, the relation between the parts 
of the extremities is the same, and this is their agreement 
with them. But if there are two bodies of different shapes, 
having no similarness of relation between the parts of the 
extremities; this, considered by itself, is a deformity, be- 
cause being disagrees with being, which must undoubt- 
edly be disagreable to perceiving being : because what dis- 
agrees with Being must necessarily be disagreeable to 
Being in general, to every thing that partakes of Entity, 
and of course to perceiving being'; and what agrees with 
Being, must be agreeable to Being in general, and there- 
fore to perceiving being. But agreeableness of perceiving 
being is pleasure, and disagreeableness is pain. Disagree- 
ment or contrariety to Being, is evidently an approach to 
Nothing, or a degree of Nothing; which is nothing else 
but disagreement or contrariety of Being, and the greatest 
and only evil : And Entity is the greatest and only good. 
And by how much more perfect Entity is, that is without 
mixture of Nothing, by so much the more Excellency. 
Two beings can agree one with another in nothing else 
but Relation; because otherwise the notion of their two- 
ness (duality,) is destroyed, and they become one. 

And so, in every case, what is called Correspondency, 
Symmetry, Regularity, and the like, may be resolved into 
Equalities; though the Equalities in a beauty, in any de- 
gree complicated, are so numerous, that it would be a 
most tedious piece of work to enumerate them. There 
are millions of these Equalities. Of these consist the 
beautiful shape of flowers, the beauty of the body of man, 
and of the bodies of other animals. That sort of beauty 
which is called Natural, as of vines, plants, trees, etc. con- 
sists of a very complicated harmony; and all the natural 
motions, and tendencies, and figures of bodies in the Uni- 
verse are done according to proportion, and therein is their 
beauty. Particular disproportions sometimes greatly add 
to the general beauty, and must necessarily be, in order to 
a more universal proportion : — So much equality, so much 
beauty; though it may be noted that the quantity of 
equality is not to be measured only by the number, but the 
intenseness, according to the quantity of being. As 



212 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

bodies are shadows of being, so tbeir proportions are shad- 
ows of proportion. 

The pleasures of the senses, where harmony is not the 
object of judgment, are the result of equality. Thus in 
Music, not only in the proportion which the several notes 
of a tune bear, one among another, but in merely two 
notes, there is harmony; whereas it is impossible there 
should be proportion between only two terms. But the 
proportion is in the particular vibrations of the air, which 
strike on the ear. And so, in the pleasantness of light, 
colours, tastes, smells and touch, all arise from proportion 
of motion. The organs are so contrived that, upon the 
touch of such and such particles, there shall be a regular 
and harmonious motion of the animal spirits. 

Spiritual harmonies are of vastly larger extent: i. e. 
the proportions are vastly oftener redoubled, and respect 
mere beings, and require a vastly larger view to compre- 
hend them; as some simple notes do more affect one, who 
has not a comprehensive understanding of Music. 

The reason, why Equality thus pleases the mind, and 
Inequality is unpleasing, is because Disproportion, or In- 
consistency, is contrary to Being. For Being, if we ex- 
amine narrowly, is nothing else but Proportion. When 
one being is inconsistent with another being, then Being 
is contradicted. But contradiction to Being, is intoler- 
able to perceiving being, and the consent to Being, most 
pleasing. 

Excellency consists in the Similarness of one being to 
another — ^not merely Equality and Proportion, but any 
kind of Similarness — thus Similarness of direction. Sup- 
posing many globes moving in right lines, it is more beau- 
tiful, that they should move all the same way, and accord- 
ing to the same direction, than if they moved disorderly; 
one, one way, and another, another. This is an universal 
definition of Excellency : — The Consent of Being to Being, 
or Being's Consent to Entity. The more the Consent is, 
and the more extensive, the greater is the Excellency. 

How exceedingly apt are we, when we are sitting still, 
and accidentally casting our eye upon some marks or 
spots in the floor or wall, to be ranging of them into reg- 
ular parcels and figures : and, if we see a mark out of its 
place, to be placing of it right, by our imagination; and 
this, even while we are meditating on something else. So 



NOTES ON THE MIND 213 

we may catcli ourselves at observing the rules of harmony 
and regularity, in the careless motions of our heads or 
feet, and when playing with our hands, or walking about 
the room. 

Pleasedness, in perceiving Being, always arises, either 
from a perception of Consent to Being in general, or of 
Consent to that Being that perceives. As we have shown, 
that Agreeableness to Entity must be agreeable to perceiv- 
ing Entity ; it is as evident that it is necessary that Agree- 
ableness to that Being must be pleasing to it, if it per- 
ceives it. So that Pleasedness does not always arise from 
a perception of Excellency; [in general;] but the greater 
a Being is, and the more it has of Entity? the more will 
Consent to Being in general please it. But God is proper 
Entity itself, and these two therefore, in Him, become 
the same; for, so far as a thing consents to Being in gen- 
eral, so far it consents to Him ; and the more perfect Cre- 
ated Spirits are, the nearer do they come to their Creator, 
in this regard. 

That, which is often called Self Love, is exceedingly im- 
properly called Love, for they do not only say that one 
loves himself, when he sees something amiable in himself, 
the view of which begets delight. But merely an inclina- 
tion to pleasure, and averseness to pain, they call Self 
Love; so that the devils, and other damned spirits, love 
themselves, not because they see any thing in themselves, 
which they imagine to be lovely, but merely, because they 
do not incline to pain but to pleasure, or merely because 
they are capable of pain or pleasure; for pain and pleas- 
ure include an inclination to agreeableness, and an aver- 
sion to disagreeableness. Now how improper is it to say, 
that one loves himself, because what is agreeable to him 
is agreeable to him, and what is disagreeable to him is 
disagreeable to him: which mere Entity supposes. So 
that this, that they call Self -Love, is no affection, but only 
the Entity of the thing, or his being what he is. 

One alone, without any reference to any more, cannot 
be excellent; for in such case, there can be no manner of 
relation no way, and therefore no such thing as Consent. 
Indeed what we call One, may be excellent because of a 
consent of parts, or some consent of those in that being, 
that are distinguished into a plurality some way or other. 



214 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

But in a being that is absolutely without any plurality, 
there cannot be Excellency, for there can be no such thing 
as consent or agreement. 

One of the highest excellencies is Love. As nothing 
else has a proper being but Spirits, and as Bodies are but 
the shadow of being, therefore the consent of bodies one 
to another, and the harmony that is among them, is but 
the shadow of Excellency. The highest Excellency there- 
fore must be the consent of Spirits one to another. But 
the consent of Spirits consists half in their mutual love 
one to another. And the sweet harmony between the va- 
rious parts of the Universe, is only an image of mutual 
love. But yet a lower kind of love may be odious, be- 
cause it hinders, or is contrary to, a higher and more gen- 
eral. Even a lower proportion is often a deformity, be- 
cause it is contrary to a more general proportion. 

Cor oil, I. If so much of the beauty and excellency of 
Spirits consists in Love, then the deformity of evil spirits 
consists as much in hatred and malice. 

Cor oil, 2. The more any doctrine, or institution, 
brings to light of the Spiritual World, the more will it 
urge to Love and Charity. 

Happiness strictly consists in the perception of these 
three things : of the consent of being to its own being ; of 
its own consent to being; and of being's consent to being. 

[1718-20?] 

[45.] EXCELLENCE. 1. When we spake of Excel- 
lence in Bodies, we were obliged to borrow the word. 
Consent, from Spiritual things; but Excellence in and 
among Spirits is in its prime and proper sense. Being's 
consent to Being. There fs no other proper consent but 
that of Minds, even of their Will; which, when it is of 
Minds towards Minds, it is Love, and when of Minds 
towards other things, it is Choice, Wherefore all the Pri- 
mary and Original beauty or excellence, that is among 
Minds, is Love; and into this may all be resolved that is 
found among them. 

2. When we spake of External excellency, we said, that 
Being's consent to Being, must needs be agreeable to Per- 
ceiving Being, But now we are speaking of Spiritual 
things, we may change the phrase, and say, that Mind's 
love to Mind must needs be lovely to Beholding Mind; 



NOTES ON THE MIND 215 

and Being's love to Being, in general, must needs be 
agreeable to Being that perceives it, because itself is a 
participation of Being, in general. 

3. As to the proportion of this Love; — to greater Spir- 
its, more, and to less, less; — it is beautiful, as it is a mani- 
festation of love to Spirit or Being in general. And the 
want of this proportion is a deformity, because it is a 
manifestation of a defect of such a love. It shows that it 
is not Being, in general, but something else, that is loved, 
when love is not in proportion to the Extensiveness and 
Excellence of Being. 

4. Seeing God has so plainly revealed himself to us; and 
other minds are made in his image, and are emanations 
from him; we may judge what is the Excellence of other 
minds, by what is his, which we have shown is Love. His 
Infinite Beauty, is His Infinite mutual Love of Himself. 
Now God is the Prime and Original Being, the First and 
Last, and the Pattern of all, and has the sum of all per- 
fection. We may therefore, doubtless, conclude, that all 
that is the perfection of Spirits may be resolved into that 
which is God's perfection, which is Love. 

5. There are several degrees of deformity or disagree- 
ableness of dissent from Being. One is, when there is 
only merely a dissent from Being. This is disagreeable 
to Being, (for Perceiving Being only is properly Being.) 
Still more disagreeable is a dissent to very excellent Be- 
ing, or, as we have explained, to a Being that consents in 
a high degree to Being, because such a Being by such a 
consent becomes bigger; and a dissenting from such a 
Being includes, also, a dissenting from what he consents 
with, which is other Beings, or Being in general. Another 
deformity, that is more odious than mere dissent from 
Being, is, for a Being to dissent from, or not to consent 
with, a Being who consents with his Being. It is a 
manifestation of a greater dissent from Being than ordi- 
nary ; for the Being perceiving, knows that it is natural to 
Being, to consent with what consents with it, as we have 
shown. It therefore manifests an extraordinary dissent, 
that consent to itself will not draw its consent. The de- 
formity, for the same reason, is greater still, if there be 
dissent from consenting Being. There are such contra- 
rieties and jars in Being, as must necessarily produce jar- 
ring and horror in perceiving Being.' 



216 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

6. Dissent from such Beings, if that he their fixed na- 
ture, is a manifestation of Consent to Being in general; 
for consent to Being is dissent from that, which dissents 
from Being. 

7. Wherefore all Virtue, which is the Excellency of 
minds, is resolved into Love to Being ; and nothing is vir- 
tuous or beautiful in Spirits, any otherwise than as it is 
an exercise, or fruit, or manifestation, of this love; and 
nothing is sinful or deformed in Spirits, but as it is the 
defect of, or contrary to, these. 

8. When we speak of Being in general, we may be un- 
derstood of the Divine Being, for he is an Infinite Being : 
therefore all others must necessarily be considered as 
nothing. As to Bodies, we have shown in another place, 
that they have no proper Being of their own. And as to 
Spirits, they are the communications of the Great Origi- 
nal Spirit; and doubtless, in metaphysical strictness and 
propriety, He is, as there is none else. He is likewise In- 
finitely Excellent, and all Excellence and Beauty is de- 
rived from him, in the same manner as all Being. And 
all other Excellence, is, in strictness only, a shadow of 
his. We proceed, therefore, to show how all Spiritual Ex- 
cellence is resolved into Love. 

9. As to God's Excellence, it is evident it consists in the 
Love of himself; for he was as excellent, before he created 
the Universe, as he is now. But if the Excellence of 
Spirits consists in their disposition and action, God could 
be excellent no other way at that time; for all the exer- 
tions of himself were towards himself. But he exerts 
himself towards himseK, no other way, than in infinitely 
loving and delighting in himself; in the mutual love of 
the Father and the Son. This makes the Third, the Per- 
sonal Holy Spirit, or the Holiness of God, which is his 
Infinite Beauty; and this is God's Infinite Consent to Be- 
ing in general. And his love to the creature is his Excel- 
lence, or the communication of Himself, his complacency 
in them, according as they partake of more or less of 
Excellence and beauty, that is of holiness, (which con- 
sists in love;) that is according as he communicates more 
or less of his Holy Spirit. 

10. As to that Excellence, that Created Spirits partake 
of; that it is all to be resolved into Love, none will doubt, 
that knows what is the Sum of the Ten Commandments; 



NOTES ON THE MIND 217 

or believes what the Apostle says. That Love is the fulfill- 
ing of the Law; or what Christ says, That on these two, 
loving God and our neighbor, hang all the Law and the 
Prophets. This doctrine is often repeated in the New 
Testament. Wb are told that the End of the Command- 
ment is Love; that to Love, is to fulfil the Eoyal Law; 
and that all the Law is fulfilled in this one word. Love. 

11. I know of no difficulties worth insisting on, except 
pertaining to the spiritual excellence of Justice; but 
enough has been said already to resolve them. Though; 
Injustice is the greatest of all deformities, yet Justice is 
no otherwise excellent, than as it is the exercise, fruit and 
manifestation of the mind's love or consent to Being; nor 
Injustice deformed any otherwise, than as it is the highest 
degree of the contrary. Injustice is not to exert ourselves 
towards any Being as it deserves, or to do it contrary to 
what is deserves, in doing good or evil, or in acts of Con- 
sent or Dissent. There are two ways of deserving our 
Consent, and the acts of it: (By deserving any thing, we 
are to understand that the nature of being requires it:) By 
extensiveness and excellence; and by consent to that par- 
ticular being. The reason of the deformity of not propor- 
tioning our consent, and the exercise of it, may be seen 
in paragraphs 3 and 5. As to the beauty of Vindictive 
Justice, see paragraph 6. 

12. 'Tis peculiar to God, that he has beauty within 
himself^ consisting in Being's consenting with his own 
Being, or the love of himself, in his own Holy Spirit. 
Whereas the excellence of others is in loving others, in 
loving God, and in the communications of his Spirit. 

13. We shall be in danger, when we meditate on this 
love of God to himself, as being the thing wherein his in- 
finite excellence and loveliness consists, of some alloy to 
the sweetness of our view, by its appearing with something 
of the aspect and cast of what we call self love. But we 
are to consider that this love includes in it, or rather is 
the same as, a love to every thing, as they are all commu- 
nications of himself. So that we are to conceive of 
Divine Excellence as the Infinite General Love, that which 
reaches all, proportionally, with perfect purity and sweet- 
ness; yea, it includes the true Love of all creatures, for 
that is his Spirit, or which is the same thing, his Love. 
And if we take notice, when we are in the best frames med- 



218 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

itating on Divine Excellence, our idea of that tranquility 
and peace, which seems to be overspread and cast abroad 
upon the whole Earth, and Universe, naturally dissolves 
itself, into the idea of a General Love and Delight, every 
where diffused. 

14. Conscience is that Sense the Mind has of this Con- 
sent: Which Sense consists in the Consent of the Perceiv- 
ing Being, to such a General Consent; (that is of such 
perceiving Beings, as are capable of so general a percep- 
tion, as to have any notion of Being in general;) and the 
Dissent of his mind to a Dissent from Being in general. 
We have said already, that it is naturally agreeable to 
Perceiving Being that Being should consent to Being, 
and the contrary disagreeable. If by any means, there- 
fore, a particular and restrained love overcomes this Gen- 
eral Consent; — the foundation of that Consent yet re- 
maining in the nature, exerts itself again, so that there is 
the contradiction of one consent to another. And as it 
is naturally agreeable to every Being, to have being con- 
sent to him ; the mind, after it has thus exerted an act of 
dissent to Being in general, has a sense that Being in 
general dissents from it, which is most disagreeable to it. 
And as he is conscious of a dissent from Universal Being, 
and of that Being^s dissent from him, wherever he is, he, 
sees what excites horror. And by inclining or doing that, 
which is against his natural inclination as a Perceiving 
Being, he must necessarily cause uneasiness, inasmuch as 
that natural inclination is contradicted. And this is the 
Disquiet of Conscience, And, though the Disposition be 
changed, the remembrance of his having so done in time 
past, and the idea being still tied to that of himself, he is 
uneasy. The notion of such a dissent any where, as we 
have shown is odious; but the notion of its being in him- 
self, renders it uneasy and disquieting. But when there 
is no sense of any such dissent from Being in general, 
there is no contradiction to the natural inclination of 
Perceiving Being. And when he reflects, he has a sense 
that Being in general doth not dissent from him; and 
then there is Peace of Conscience; though he has a re- 
membrance of past dissentions with nature. Yet if by 
any means it be possible, when he has the idea of it, to 
conceive of it as not belonging to him, he has the same 
Peace. And if he has a sense not only of his not dissent- 



NOTES ON THE MIND 219 

ing, but of his consenting to Being in general, or Nature, 
and acting accordingly; he has a sense that Nature, in 
general, consents to him : he has not only Peace, but Joy, 
of mind, wherever he is. These things are obviously in- 
vigorated by the knowledge of God and his Constitution 
about us, and by the light of the Gospel. [1Y18-22 ?] 

[62.] As BODIES, the objects of our external senses, are 
but the shadows of beings; that harmony, wherein con- 
sists sensible excellency and beauty, is but the shadow of 
excellency. That is, it is pleasant to the mind, because it 
is a shadow of love. When one thing sweetly harmonizes 
with another, as the Notes in musick, the notes are so 
conformed, and have such proportion one to another, that 
they seem to have respect one to another, as if they loved 
one another. So the beauty of figures and motions is, 
when one part has such consonant proportion with the 
rest, as represents a general agreeing and consenting to- 
gether; which is very much the image of Love, in all the 
parts of a Society, united by a sweet consent and charity 
of heart. Therein consists the beauty of figures, as of 
flowers drawn with a pen ; and the beauty of the body, and 
of the features of the face. 

There is no other way, that sensible things can consent 
one to another but by Equality, or by Likeness, or by 
Proportion. Therefore the lowest or most simple kind of 
beauty is equality or likeness ; because by equality or like- 
ness, one part consents with but one part; but by Propor- 
tion one part may sweetly consent to ten thousand differ- 
ent parts ; all the parts may consent with all the rest ; and 
not only so, but the parts, taken singly, may consent with 
the whole taken together. Thus, in the figures or flour- 
ishes drawn by an acute penman, every stroke may have 
such a proportion, both by the place and distance, direc- 
tion, degree of curvity, etc. that there may be a consent, 
in the parts 'of each stroke, one with another, and a har- 
monious agreement with all the strokes, and with the vari- 
ous parts, composed of many strokes, and an agreeableness 
to the whole figure taken together. 

There is a beauty in Equality, as appears very evident 
by the very great respect men show to it, in every thing 
they make or do. Plow unbeautiful would be the body, if 
the parts on one side were unequal to those on the other; 



220 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

how unbeautiful would writing be, if the letters were not 
of an equal height, or the lines of an equal length, or at 
an equal distance, or if the pages were not of an equal 
width or height; and how unbeautiful would a building 
be, if no equality were observed in the correspondent parts. 

ExiSTENOE or Entity is that, into which all Excellency is 
to be resolved. Being or Existence is what is necessarily 
agreeable to Being; and when Being perceives it, it will 
be an agreeable perception; and any contradiction to Be- 
ing or Existence is what Being when it perceives, abhors. 
If Being, in itself considered, were not pleasing. Being's 
consent to Being would not be pleasing, nor would Being's 
disagreeing with Being, be displeasing. Therefore, not 
only may Greatness be considered as a capacity of Excel- 
lency; but a Being, by reason of his greatness considered 
alone, is the more excellent, because he partakes more of 
Being. Though if he be great, if he dissents from more 
general and extensive Being, or from Universal Being ; he 
is the more odious for his greatness, because the dissent 
or contradiction to Being in general is so much the 
greater. It is more grating to see much Being dissent 
from Being than to see little; and his greatness, or the 
quantity of Being he partakes of, does nothing towards 
bettering his dissent from Being in general, because there 
is no proportion between Einite Being, however great, and 
Universal Being. 

Cor oil. 1. Hence it is impossible that God should be 
any otherwise, than excellent; for he' is the Infinite, Uni- 
versal and All- comprehending. Existence. 

2. Hence God infinitely loves himself, because his Being 
is Infinite. He is in himself, if I may so say, an Infinite 
Quantity of Existence. 

3. Hence we learn one reason, why persons, who view 
Death merely as Annihilation, have a great abhorrence of 
it, though they live a very afflicted life. 

NOTES ON NATURAL SCIENCE 

OF THE PREJUDICES OF THE IMAGINATION 

Of all prejudices, no one so fights with Natural Philos- 
ophy, and prevails more against it, than those of the Im- 
agination. It is these, which make the vulgar so roar out, 



OF PEEJUDICES OF IMAGINATION 221 

upon the mention of some very rational philosophical 
truths. And indeed I have known of some very learned 
men, that have pretended to a more than ordinary freedom 
from such prejudices, so overcome by them, that, merely 
because of them, they have believed things most absurd. 
And truly I hardly know of any other prejudices, that 
are more powerful against truth of any kind, than those; 
and I believe they will not give the hand to any in any 
case, except to those arising from our ruling self-interest, 
or the impetuosity of human passions. And there is very 
good reason for it ; for opinions, arising from imagination, 
take us as soon as we are born, are beat into us by every 
act of sensation, and so grow up with us from our very 
births, and by that means grow into us so fast, that it is 
almost impossible to root them out; being, as it were, so 
incorporated with our very minds, that whatsoever is ob- 
jected contrary thereunto, is, as if it were dissonant to the 
very constitution of them. Hence men come to make 
what they can actually perceive by their senses, or by im- 
mediate and outside reflection into their own souls, the 
standard of possibility and impossibility; so that there 
must be no body, forsooth, bigger than they can conceive 
of, or less than they can see with their eyes : no motion, 
either much swifter, or slower, than they can imagine. 
As to the greatness, and distances of bodies, the learned 
world have pretty well conquered their imagination, with 
respect to them; neither will any body flatly deny, that it 
is possible for bodies to be of any degree of bigness that 
can be mentioned; yet imaginations of this kind, among 
the learned themselves, even of this learned age, have a 
very powerful secret influence, to cause them, either to 
reject things really true, as erroneous, or to embrace those 
that are truly so. Thus some men will yet say, they can- 
not conceive, how the Fixed Stars can be so distant as 
that the Earth's annual revolution should cause no paral- 
lax among them, and so are almost ready to fall back into 
antiquated Ptolemy his system, merely to ease their im- 
agination. — Thus also, on the other hand, a very learned 
man and sagacious astronomer, upon consideration of the 
vast magnitude of the visible part of the universe, has, in 
the extacy of his imagination, been hurried on to pro- 
nounce the universal infinite; which I may say, out of 
veneration, was beneath such a man as he. As if it were 



222 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

any more an argument, because what lie could see of the 
universe were so hig, as he was assured it was. And sup- 
pose he had discovered the invisible universe, so vast as it 
is, to be as a globule of water to another Universe; the 
case is the same ; as if it would have been any more of an 
argument, that that larger Universe was infinite, than if 
the visible part thereof were no bigger than a particle of 
the water of this. I think one is no nearer to infinite than 
the other. [1718-20?] 

OF BEING 

That there should absolutely be Nothing at all, is ut- 
terly impossible. The mind, let it stretch its conceptions 
ever so far, can never so much as bring itself to conceive 
of a state of perfect Nothing. It puts the mind into mere 
convulsion and confusion, to think of such a state : and it 
contradicts the very nature of the soul, to think that such 
a state should be. It is the greatest of contradictions, and 
the aggregate of all contradictions, to say that thing 
should not be. It is true, we cannot so distinctly show 
the contradiction in words ; because we cannot talk about 
it, without speaking stark nonsense, and contradicting 
ourselves at every way: and because Nothing is that, 
whereby we distinctly show other particular contradic- 
tions. But here we are run up to our first principle, and 
have no other to explain the nothingness, or not being of 
Nothing by. Indeed we can mean nothing else by Noth- 
ing, but a state of absolute contradiction ; and if any man 
thinks, that he can conceive well enough how there should 
be Nothing, I will engage, that what he means by Nothing, 
is as much Something, as any thing that he ever thought 
of in his life ; and I believe, that if he knew what Nothing 
was, it would be intuitively evident to him that it could 
not be. — Thus we see it is necessary that, some being should 
eternally be. And it is a more palpable contradiction still 
to say, that there must be Being somewhere, and not other- 
where, for the words Absolute Nothing, and Where, con- 
tradict each other. And, besides, it gives as great a shock 
to the mind, to think of pure Nothing being in any one 
place, as it does to think of it in all places : and it is self- 
evident, that there can be Nothing in one place, as well 
as in another; and if there can be in one, there can be all. 



OF BEING 223 

So that we see tliat this Necessary, Eternal Being must be 
Infinite and Omnipresent. 

This Infinite and Omnipresent being cannot be solid. 
Let us see how contradictory it is, to say that an Infinite 
being is solid; for solidity surely is nothing, but resist- 
ance to other solidities. — Space is this necessary, eternal, 
infinite, and omnipresent being. We find that we can, 
with ease, conceive how all other beings should not be. 
We can remove them out of our minds, and place some 
other in the room of them: but Space is the very thing, 
that we can never remove, and conceive of its not being. 
If a man would imagine Space any where to be divided, 
so as there should be nothing between the divided parts, 
there remains Space between, notwithstanding, and so the 
man contradicts himself. And it is self-evident I believe 
to every man, that Space is necessary, eternal, infinite 
and omnipresent. But I had as good speak plain : I have 
already said as much as, that Space is God. And it is 
indeed clear to me, that all the Space there is, not proper 
to body, all the Space there is without the bounds of Cre- 
ation, all the Space there was before the Creation, is God 
himself; and no body would in the least pick at it, if it 
were not because of the gross conceptions, that we have 
of Space. 

A state of absolute nothing is a state of absolute contra- 
diction. Absolute nothing is the aggregate of all the con- 
tradictions in the world: a state, wherein there is neither 
body, nor spirit, nor space, neither empty space nor full 
space, neither little nor great, narrow nor broad, neither 
infinite space nor finite space, not even a mathematical 
point, neither up nor down, neither north nor south, (I 
do not mean, as it is with respect to the body of the earth, 
or some other great body,) but no contrary points, posi- 
tions or directions, no such thing as either here or there, 
this way or that way, or any way. When we go about to 
form an idea of perfect Nothing, we must shut out all 
these things: we must shut out of our minds both space 
that has something in it, and space that has nothing in it. 
We must not allow ourselves to think of the least part of 
Space, be it ever so small. Nor must we suffer our 
thoughts to take sanctuary in a mathematical point. 
When [we] go to expel being out of our thoughts, we must 
be careful not to leave empty space in the room of it ; and 



224 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

when we go to expel emptiness from our thoughts, we 
must not think to squeeze it out by any thing close, hard 
and solid; but we must think of the same, that the sleep- 
ing rocks do dream of; and not till then, shall we get a 
complete idea of Nothing. 

When we go to enquire. Whether or no, there can be 
absolutely Nothing? we utter nonsense, in so enquiring. 
The stating of the question is nonsense ; because we make 
a disjunction where there is none. Either Being, or ab- 
solute Nothing, is no disjunction; no more than whether 
a triangle is a triangle, or not a triangle. There is no 
other way, but only for there to be existence: there is no 
such thing, as absolute Nothing. There is such a thing, 
as Nothing, with respect to this ink and paper: there is 
such a thing, as Nothing, with respect to you and me : 
there is such a thing, as Nothing, with respect to this 
globe of earth, and with respect to this Universe. There 
is another way, beside these things, having existence; but 
there is no such thing, as Nothing, with respect to Entity, 
of being, absolutely considered. We do not know what we 
say, if we say, that we think it possible in itself, that 
there should not be Entity. 

And how doth it grate upon the mind, to think that 
Something should be from all eternity, and yet Nothing all 
the while be conscious of it. To illustrate this : Let us 
suppose that the World had a being from all eternity, and 
had many great changes, and wonderful revolutions, and 
all the while Nothing knew it, there was no knowledge in 
the Universe of any such thing. How is it possible to 
bring the mind to imagine this? Yea, it is really impos- 
sible it should be, that any thing should exist, and Nothing 
know it. Then you will say. If it be so, it is, because 
Nothing has any existence but in consciousness: No, cer- 
tainly, no where else, but either in created or uncreated 
consciousness. 

Suppose there were another Universe, merely of bodies, 
created at a great distance from this; created in excellent 
order, harmonious motions, and a beautiful variety; and 
there was no created intelligence in it, nothing but sense- 
less bodies, and nothing but God knew any thing of it. I 
demand where else that Universe would have a being, but 
only in the Divine consciousness? Certainly, in no other 
respect. There would be figures, and magnitudes, and 



OF BEING 225 

motions, and proportions; but where, where else, except 
in the Almighty's knowledge? How is it possible there 
should ? — But then you will say. For the same reason, in a 
room closely shut up, which nobody sees, there is nothing, 
except in God's knowledge. — I answer. Created beings 
are conscious of the effects of what is in the room; for, 
perhaps, there is not one leaf of a tree, nor a spire of 
grass, but what produces effects, all over the Universe and 
will produce them, to the end of eternity. But any other- 
wise, there is nothing in a room so shut up, but only in 
God's consciousness. How can any thing be there, any 
other way? This will appear to be truly so, to any one 
who thinks of it, with the whole united strength of his 
mind. Let us suppose, for illustration, this impossibility, 
that all the spirits in the Universe were, for a time, de- 
prived of their consciousness, and that God's conscious- 
ness, at the same time, were to be intermitted. I say the 
Universe, for that time, would cease to be, of itself; and 
this not merely, as we speak, because the Almighty could 
not attend to uphold it ; but because God could know noth- 
ing of it. It is our foolish imagination that will not suf- 
fer us to see it. We fancy there may be figures and mag- 
nitudes, relations and properties, without any one know- 
ing of it. But it is our imagination hurts us. We do not 
know what figures and properties are. 

Our imagination makes us fancy, that we see shapes, 
and colours, and magnitudes, though nobody is there to 
behold it. But to help our imagination, let us thus state 
the case: Let us suppose the creation deprived of every 
ray of light, so that there should not be the least glim- 
mering of light in the Universe. Now all will own, that, 
in such case, the Universe would really be immediately 
deprived of all its colours. No one part of the Universe 
is, any more red, or blue, or green, or yellow, or black, or 
white, or light, or dark, or transparent, or opake. There 
would be no visible distinction, between the Universe and 
the rest of the incomprehensible void : yea, there would be 
no difference, in these respects, between the Universe and 
the infinite void ; so that any part of that void would really 
be as light and as dark, as white and as black, as red and 
as green, as blue and as brown, as transparent and as 
opake, as any part of the Universe: so that, in such case, 
there would be no difference, in these respects, between 



226 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

the Universe and Nothing. So also, there would be no 
difference, between one part of the Universe and another: 
all, in these respects, is alike confounded with, and undis- 
tinguished from, infinite emptiness. 

At the same time, also, let us suppose the Universe to 
be altogether deprived of motion, and all parts of it to be 
at perfect rest. Then, the Universe would not differ from 
the void, in this respect: there would be no more motion 
in the one, than in the other. Then, also, solidity would 
cease. All that we mean, or can be meant, by solidity, is 
resistance; resistance to touch, the resistance of some 
parts of space. This is all the knowledge we get of 
solidity, by our senses, and, I am sure, all that we can get, 
any other way. But solidity shall be shown to be nothing 
else, more fully, hereafter. But there can be no resistance, 
if there is no motion. One body cannot resist another, 
when there is perfect rest among them. But, you will 
say, Though there is no actual resistance, yet there is po- 
tential resistance: that is, such and such parts of space 
would resist upon occasion. But this is all that I would 
have, that there is no solidity now; not but that God 
could cause there to be, on occasion. And if there is no 
solidity, there is no extension, for extension is the extend- 
edness of solidity. Then, all figure, and magnitude, and 
proportion, immediately cease. Put, then, both these sup- 
positions together: that is, deprive the Universe of light, 
and motion, and the case would stand thus, with the Uni- 
verse: There would be neither white nor black, neither 
blue nor brown, neither bright nor shaded, pellucid nor 
opake, no noise nor sound, neither heat nor cold, neither 
fluid nor solid, neither wet nor dry, neither hard nor soft, 
nor solidity, nor extension, nor figure, nor magnitude, nor 
proportion, nor body, nor spirit. What, then, is to be- 
come of the Universe? Certainly it exists no where, but 
in the Divine mind. This will be abundantly clearer to 
one, after having read what I have further to say of solid- 
ity, etc. : so that we see that a Universe, without motion, 
can exist no where else, but in the mind — either infinite or 
finite. 

Corollary, It follows from hence, that those beings, 
which have knowledge and consciousness, are the only 
proper and real, and substantial beings; inasmuch as the 
being of other things is only by these. From hence, we 



THINGS TO BE CONSIDEEED 227 

may see tiie gross mistake of those, who think material 
things the most substantial beings, and spirits more like 
a shadow; whereas, spirits only are properly substance. 

[1718-20?] 

THINGS TO BE CONSIDEEED, OK WEITTEN 

EULLY ABOUT 

47. Since, as has been shown, body is nothing but an in- 
finite resistance, in some parts of space, caused by the 
immediate exercise of Divine power; it follows, that as 
great and as wonderful power is every moment exerted in 
the upholding of the world, as at first was exerted in its 
creation: the first creation being only the first exertion of 
this power, to cause such resistance, and the preservation, 
only the continuation or the repetition of this power, every 
moment to cause this resistance: so that the Universe is 
created out of nothing every moment. And, if it were not 
for our imaginations, which hinder us, we might see that 
wonderful work performed continually, which was seen by 
the morning stars, when they sang together. 

48. There is that, which is peculiarly wonderful in 
Trees, beyond any thing that is to be found in the inani- 
mate world, even the manner of their growing from the 
seed. Their amazing diversification into such curious 
branches, leaves, flowers, fruits, and seeds; and so suc- 
cessively from one seed after another, in the same man- 
ner, from age to age, forever. 

The discovery of the little tree in the seed, has opened 
a door for finding out these wonders ; but, without that, we 
might have known that the parts of the tree are in minia- 
ture, before they are in perfection; for the bud, which is 
but another sort of seed, is nothing but the leaves, twigs, 
flowers and fruits, folded up together, which we see by 
degrees unfold themselves. 

But the trees being in embryo in the seed, does not 
seem to solve the difficulty, for the tree most certainly 
does not keep to its rule, does not exactly follow its copy 
in the seed; for we may make the tree grow almost as we 
please. If we lop the tree, there will peep out new 
branches from the body of th-e tree, where there was no 
sign of a branch. But if the branches of the tree did 
really grow exactly in the same form as their pattern in 



228 JONATHAN EDWAEDS . 

the seed, this miglit indeed solve for the growing of one 
tree, but not for that infinite succession, and endless off- 
spring, of trees, that may proceed from it; except we 
suppose that, in one seed, are actually contained an infi- 
nite number of trees and seeds, one within another; for 
this makes actually an infinite number pf trees twice over, 
in the same seed: first, an infinite number of successions 
of one tree, less than another, and by that time we come 
to the least, (we must be allowed to speak contradictions 
here,) the offspring will be so numerous, that there will 
be actually an infinite number of trees of the same size 
and standing. Wherefore this matter of the Growth of 
Trees still remains very difficult. 

The reason of it would not be altogether so difficult and 
perplexing, if they always grew in the same regular order. 
We do not despair of finding out the reason of that, which 
always happens alike, and in the same order. Thus, when 
we have reduced the motion of the Planets to a rule, we 
have got above half way towards giving the reason of their 
motions. But the Branches of Trees seem not capable of 
being reduced to any rule at all; but there is an infinite 
variety — one branch grows out here, and another there, 
without any order. 

But we shall be helped in this matter, if we consider, 
that all trees and plants, universally, when they first 
sprout out of the ground, while there is, as yet, but one 
twig, are exactly regular; that is, having the buds which 
grow out of them, which are branches in miniature, stand- 
ing in a regular and uniform manner — a leaf always grow- 
ing under the bud. In some, two come out together, one 
right opposite to the other, alwavs standing transverse to 
the last two, as in the twig, A B, in the maple tree; In 
others, but one at a time, standing at regular distances, 
on different sides, in such order as to stand round the 
twig, in the form of a screw, so that the branches shall 
stand out on every side, as in the twig, D, in the apple, 
the pear, the cherry, etc.; in others, having two together, 
growing out of opposite sides, but not standing transverse, 
like the maples, as in the twig E F ; In others, having four 
or five standing round the twig together, as in G G; In 
others, having but one at a time, standing always opposite 
to each other, as in I K; and innumerable other ways, 
but yet always regular. And as the first sprouts of the 



THINGS TO BE COKSIDEKED 



229 



tree are always regular, so are all the young sprouts of 
the tree afterwards, when the tree conies to be divided 
into many branches; yea, always as long as the tree lives, 
all the twigs, that are of that year's growth, are reguiar. 
So that it follows, that the body, the main branches, and 
the little twigs, and every part, of every tree in the world, 
in their first beginnings, were regular. So that, if all the 



F 






/ 



\ 









M 



\ 



\ 



G 



N 



V 



/" 



^ 



E 




trees had continued as they were, in the year that they 
grew; the whole tree, with all the branches, small and 
great, would be regular. And now we are sure that, if 
the sap did not flow, more easily, into one bud or branch 
than another, or, if one were not otherwise advantaged 
above another, if all the buds and branches had, in all 
respects, equal advantages for growing ; the tree would be 
most exactly regular. It follows clearly, and certainly; 
for, if the common trunk, A B, when it first grew, was 
regular, and the branches, l, m, n, o, at first were regular, 
and the branches of the branches, as r s, were also regu- 
lar, and so on ; it is certain, if all these branches continued 
as they were at first, and every bud or branch expanded 
itself alike, tiiat the whole tree, A B, will always continue 
to grow regularly. Thus far we are clear, that the minia- 
tures of all plants are regular, and that there is no pro- 
vision made, in the seeds and bud, for any but a regular 
growth, and that, if it were not for some accidental causes 
that promoted or hindered the growth of one of the 



230 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

branches or buds, n o, more than another, that all the tree, 
in the end, would be regular. 

We need not perplex ourselves to find out, what should 
give one a greater advantage of growth than another. 
The least thing in the world may be sufficient, when they 
are so small and tender: ten thousand things might be 
thought of. 

Many plants do actually always continue to grow regu- 
lar; as most herbs and weeds, that are but of one year's 
growth, and some trees; and, of those that err from their 
seminal pattern, some keep nearer to it than others. 

We therefore conclude, that the first trees, that ever 
were, were regular trees, or at least regular parts of trees, 
so contrived, with vessels, pipes and valves, that, as it 
receives more sap, it continually desires to shoot forth 
towards B. And infinite wisdom so contrived the curious 
workmanship of the inlets, receptacles, passages and out- 
lets, from A to B, that that which is, by degrees, added at 
B, by the gentle motion of the sap, from A to B, through 
the pipes, shall be cast into the same form, and shall come 
out in the same fashion, as if it were cast into a mould. 
It is also so contrived, that, as it continues to proceed 
towards B, the course of some of the passages shall be 
directed so, as to cause it to shoot forth on the side at n, 
and at every such regular distance, just as the engineer 
contrives his clock to strike at uniform distances, and 
the sap proceeds forwards in the branch, n o, in the same 
manner as it did in the trunk A B; and in like manner 
breaks out at the sides, at regular distances from r to s, 
and then branches forth, in like manner, at the sides of 
r s, and so on, in infinitum, to the world's end. And the 
trees, that grow now, are nothing but the branches of 
those first trees ; which,, although the communication with 
the original branch has ceased, yet still continue to grow 
and to be diversified into more branches, in the same regu- 
lar and uniform method, in infinitum ; and the seeds, from 
whence our trees proceed, are no new plants, but branches 
of the old, a continuation of the same plant, in its infinite 
regular progress — branches not yet expanded. The trees, 
or seeds, or whatever they were, that God first created, 
were only the beginning of this progress, enough to set it 
a going. So it is contrived, that, at such due and uniform 
distances, these little continuations of the branches of the 



THINGS TO BE CONSIDEKED 231 

tree, while they are very tender, shall be wrapped in the 
curious covering and shelter of leaves, flowers and fruits, 
and some only of leaves and flowers, and shall drop ofl; 
so that when the seed drops off, it is only the regular con- 
tinuation of these branches. And as it drops into the 
ground, though the continuation is uninterrupted, yet, 
receiving sap from the ground, it will not cease to grow : 
which is no more strange, than that the branch of an 
apple-tree, if cut off and cast into the ground, will con- 
tinue to grow. 

The leaves are still nothing but branches of the tree, 
that grow not so big, and so contrived as to cleave to- 
gether after such a manner. So likewise is the flower, 
and the fruit too is a compages' of branches, yet otherwise 
modelled. There is nothing belonging to a tree but 
branches; and all, that the first trees, which God created, 
had to do, was to proceed to the end of the world, in such 
regular branches, having various stated periods, at the 
same stated distances : at which periods, there happen re- 
markable changes, and unusual phenomena, among the 
branches, as there may be various periods in an engine of 
human contrivance: some returning every second, every 
minute, every quarter of an hour, hour, day, month and 
year. — As for the leaves, flowers and fruits, they are not 
to be looked upon as a continuation of these regular 
branches, but as part of the substance of the trunk to 
which they grow. 

There is but here and there one of these buds, that grow 
thus regularly and expand themselves. Perhaps some die, 
most of them continue in their littleness and imperfect 
state; the sap not running plentifully enough into them, 
having more free passage elsewhere, or being by some 
means diverted ; and so, the part growing bigger, they are 
at last covered in it, and lie latent, until by some means 
the passage of the sap elsewhere is stopped, as by lopping 
of the tree, or otherwise; and then the sap, flowing more 
plentifully into them, causes them to spring forth, and 
make their way out of the bark. It may lie, like a seed 
in the tree, for many years, and, upon such an occasion, 
spring forth. Hence it is, that those little twigs, how 
small soever, though but of one year's growth, that grow 
out of great trees, yet always have their beginning and 
rise close by the very heart of the tree; because all the 



232 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

rest tliat is above it has grown and been added, since the 
tree was so small as to bear buds at that place. We had 
as good think that trees grow out of the ground, without 
seeds, as that branches grow out of the trunk without 
buds; for the buds are but another sort of seeds, that 
cleave to the tree, and the seeds are but another sort of 
buds, that drop into the ground. 

67. THUNDEE. It is remarkable of Thunder, how 
long one part of the sound will be heard after another, 
when it is evident that the sound is made all in an instant, 
by the Lightning, which continues no longer. This arises 
from the length of the stream of Lightning, whereby one 
part is a great deal farther from us than another, so that 
the sound is a great while coming successively. Hence it 
is, that in claps of thunder, that are near us, the first noise 
that we hear seems to be very near the Earth, and then it 
seems to go further and further from us, and the last will 
be a murmuring up in the clouds; for although the noise 
that was made in the clouds, and the noise near the earth, 
was made together as at an instant, yet that in the clouds 
is much farther, and therefore is longer coming, and is a 
much lower sound when it sounds. 

The rapid vibration of the air jars and jumbles, breaks 
and condenses, the bubbles of the cloud ; whence it is, that, 
soon after hard claps of thunder, rain falls in greater 
plenty. 

I regard Thunder as a meteor by far the most wonder- 
ful and least explicable of any whatsoever. But that we may 
make some approaches to the knowledge of the true nature 
of it, we shall lay down these following propositions. 

1. The Streams of Lightning are not caused by any 
solid burning, or red-hot mass of matter, exploded with 
such swiftness as to cause it to appear as if there were one 
continued stream of light ; nor are the effects of Lightning 
caused by the violent stroke of any such solid mass. For 
if Lightning were such a body projected, it would be pro- 
jected according to the laws of projected bodies; whereas 
the path of the Lightning is exceedingly far from it, being 
very crooked and angled. If Lightning were a solid body, 
projected from the cloud at A, towards E, with such a 
prodigious celerity, it proceeds according to the direction 
A, very nearly, and turns short at E in the free air, and 
fio at F, B and C; for, when it is projected with such a 



THINGS TO BE CONSIDEEED 233 

prodigious force, it must also be a prodigious force, that 
must change the course of it so short, and not the force 
of the free and yielding air. — But if any should suppose, 
that the change of the course of the Lightning might be 
caused, by some very violent eruptions of fire, at these 
angles, where the course is changed, that gives the thun- 
derbolt a new projection: — ^to this I reply, that the fiery 
stream of Lightning is smooth and even; but if there 




were any such new eruptions, they would be seen by a sud- 
den and extraordinary expansion of the light, in those 
places. But what proves, that this cannot be the reason 
of the crookedness of the path of the Lightning, is that, 
as the flash of the Lightning is repeated once or twice, 
however crooked and angled the path is, yet it is every 
time the same: a stream of Lightning darts from the 
clouds two or three times over, and every time exactly in 
the same path. And sometimes there is a continued 
stream, for some time, with a tremulous motion. Now if 
these repeated flashes were one bolt exploded after another, 
and the reason of the Lightning's changing its course were 
new eruptions of fire, how should every bolt proceed, so 
exactly, in the same path. — And further, the effects of 
Lightning, upon earthly bodies, can in no wise be ac- 
counted for, by the violent projection of a solid mass, and 
do plainly show that they are not produced by such a 
cause. There is no such effect, as is caused by the explo- 



234 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

sion of a cannon ball. It is not worth, while to stand to 
particularize, for it is exceedingly evident that none of 
the effects of Lightning arise from any such cause. Nor 

2. Are those streaks of Lightning caused by a vein of 
combustible matter's taking fire, and the fire's running 
from one end of the vein to the other almost instantane- 
ously. This would not produce any of those effects, which 
are caused by lightning, except we should suppose that 
these veins enter into the hearts of trees, rocks, and metals, 
and bodies of animals. If it were, it would be a wonder 
that the lower ends of these veins never took fire from 
fires that are upon earth. But 

3. Lightning seems to be this: An almost infinitely 
fine, combustible matter, that floats in the air, that takes 
fire by a sudden and mighty fermentation, that is some 
way promoted by the cool and moisture, and perhaps at- 
traction, of the clouds. By this sudden agitation, this 
fine, floating matter, is driven forth with a mighty force 
one way or other, which ever way it is directed, by the 
circumstances and temperature of the circumjacent air; 
for cold and heat, density and rarity, moisture and dry- 
ness, has almost an infinitely strong influence upon the 
fine particles of matter. This fluid matter, thus projected, 
still fermenting to the same degree, divides the air as it 
goes, and every moment receives a new impulse by the 
continued fermentation; and as its motion received its di- 
rection, at first, from the different temperature of the air, 
on different sides, so its direction is changed, according to 
the temperature of the air it meets with, which renders 
the path of the lightning so crooked. The parts are so 
fine, and are so vehemently urged on, that they instan- 
taneously make their way into the pores of earthly bodies, 
still burning with a prodigious heat, and so instantly rari- 
fying the rarifiable parts. Sometimes these bodies are 
somewhat bruised; which is chiefly by the beating of the 
air that is, with great violence, driven every way by the 
inflamed matter. 

EESOLUTIONS 

Being sensible that I am unable to do any thing without 
God's help, I do humbly entreat him by his grace, to en- 
able me to keep these Eesolutions, so far as they are 
agreeable to his will, for Christ's sake. 



EESOLUTIONS 235 

Eemember to read over these Eesolutions once a week 

1. Resolved, That I will do whatsoever I think to be 
most to the glory of God and my own good, profit and 
pleasure, in the whole of my duration; without any con- 
sideration of the time, whether now, or never so many 
myriads of ages hence. Resolved to do whatever I think 
to be my duty, and most for the good and advantage of 
mankind in general. Eesolved, so to do, whatever dif- 
ficuUies I meet with, how many soever, and how great 
soever. 

2. Resolved, To be continually endeavouring to find out 
some new contrivance, and invention, to promote the fore- 
mentioned things. 

3. Resolved, If ever I shall fall and grow dull, so as to 
neglect to keep any part of these Eesolutions, to repent of 
all I can remember, when I come to myself again. 

4. Resolved, Never to do any manner of thing, whether 
in soul or body, less or more, but what tends to the glory 
of God, nor he, nor suffer it, if I can possibly avoid it. 

5. Resolved, Never to lose one moment of time, but to 
improve it in the most profitable way I possibly can. 

6. Resolved, To live with all my might, while I do live. 

7. Resolved, Never to do any thing, which I should be 
afraid to do, if it were the last hour of my life. 

8. Resolved, To act, in all respects, both speaking and 
doing, as if nobody had been so vile as I, and as if I had 
committed the same sins, or had the same infirmities or 
failings as others; and that I will let the knowledge of 
their failings promote nothing but shame in myself, and 
prove only an occasion of my confessing my own sins and 
misery to God. Vid. July 30. 

9. Resolved, To think much, on all occasions, of my 
own dying, and of the common circumstances which at- 
tend death. 

10. Resolved, When I feel pain, to think of the pains of 
Martyrdom, and of Hell. 

11. Resolved, When I think of any Theorem in divinity 
to be solved, immediately to do what I can towards solv- 
ing it, if circumstances do not hinder. 

12. Resolved, If I take delight in it as a gratification 
of pride, or vanity, or on any such account, immediately 
to throw it by. 



236 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

13. Resolved, To be endeavouring to find out fit objects 
of charity and liberality. 

14. Resolved, Never to do any thing out of Revenge. 

15. Resolved, Never to suffer the least motions of an- 
ger towards irrational beings. 

16. Resolved, Never to speak evil of any one, so that it 
shall tend to his dishonour, more or less, upon no account 
except for some real good. 

17. Resolved, That I will live so, as I shall wish I had 
done when I come to die. 

18. Resolved, To live so, at all times, as I think is best 
in my most devout frames, and when I have the clearest 
notions of the things of the Gospel, and another world. 

19. Resolved, Never to do anything, which I should be 
afraid to do, if I expected it would not be above an hour, 
before I should hear the last trump. 

20. Resolved, To maintain the strictest temperance, in 
eating and drinking. 

21. Resolved, Never to do any thing, which, if I should 
see in another, I should count a just occasion to despise 
him for, or to think any way the more meanly of him. 

22. Resolved, To endeavour to obtain for myself as much 
happiness, in the other world, as I possibly can, with all 
the power, might, vigour, and vehemence, yea violence, I 
am capable of, or can bring myself to exert, in any way 
that can be thought of. 

23. Resolved, Frequently to take some deliberate action, 
which seems most unlikely to be done, for the glory of 
God, and trace it back to the original intention, designs 
and ends of it; and if I find it not to be for God's glory, 
to repute it as a breach of the fourth Resolution. 

24. Resolved, Whenever I do any conspicuously evil ac- 
tion, to trace it back, till I come to the original cause; 
and then, both carefully endeavour to do so no more, and 
to fight and pray with all my might against the original 
of it. 

25. Resolved, To examine carefully, and constantly, 
what that one thing in me is, which causes me in the least 
to doubt of the love of God; and to direct all my forces 
against it. 

26. Resolved, To cast away such things, as I find do 
abate my assurance. 

27. Resolved, Never wilfully to omit any thing, except 



EESOLUTIONS 237 

the omission be for the glory of God; and frequently to 
examine my omissions. 

28. Resolved, To study the Scriptures so steadily, con- 
stantly and frequently, as that I may find, and plainly 
perceive myself to grow in the knowledge of the same. 

29. Resolved, Never to count that a prayer, nor to let 
that pass as a prayer, nor that as a petition of a prayer, 
which is so made, that I cannot hope that God will an- 
swer it; nor that as a confession, which I cannot hope 
God will accept. 

30. Resolved, To strive, every week, to be brought high- 
er in Religion, and to a higher exercise of grace, than I 
was the week before. 

31. Resolved, Never to say any thing at all against 
any body, but when it is perfectly agreeable to the highest 
degree of christian honour, and of love to mankind, agree- 
able to the lowest humility, and sense of my own faults 
and failings, and agreeable to the Golden Rule; often, 
when I have said any thing against any one, to bring it 
to, and try it strictly by the test of this Resolution. 

32. Resolved, To be strictly and firmly faithful to my 
trust, that that, in Prov. xx, 6, A faithful man, who can 
find? may not be partly fulfilled in me. 

33. Resolved, To do, always, what I can towards mak- 
ing, maintaining and preserving peace, when it can be 
done without an overbalancing detriment in other respects. 
Dec. 26, 1722. 

34. Resolved, In narrations, never to speak any thing 
but the pure and simple verity. 

35. Resolved, Whenever I so much question whether I 
have done my duty, as that my quiet and calm is thereby 
disturbed, to set it down, and also how the question was 
resolved. Dec. 18, 1722. 

36. Resolved, Never to speak evil of any, except I have 
some particular good call to it. Dec. 19, 1722. 

37. Resolved, To enquire every night, as I am going to 
bed, Wherein I have been negligent, — What sin I have 
committed, — and wherein I have denied myself; — also, at 
the end of every week, month and year. Dec. 22 and 2Q, 
1722. 

38. Resolved, Never to utter any thing that is sportive, 
or matter of laughter, on a Lord's day. Sahhath evening, 
Dec. 23, 1722. 



238 . JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

39. Resolved, Never to do any thing, of which I so much 
question the lawfulness, as that I intend, at the same 
time, to consider and examine, afterwards, whether it be 
lawful or not; unless I as much question the lawfulness 
of the omission. 

40. Resolved, To enquire every night, before I go to 
bed, whether I have acted in the best way I possibly could, 
with respect to eating and drinking. Jan. 7, 1723. 

41. Resolved, To ask myself, at the end of every day, 
week, month and year, wherein I could possibly, in any 
respect, have done better. Jan, 11, 1723. 

42. Resolved, Frequently to renew the dedication of my- 
self to God, which was made at my baptism, which I sol- 
emnly renewed, when I was received into the communion 
of the church, and which I have solemnly re-made this 
12th day of January, 1723. 

43. Resolved, Never, henceforward, till I die, to act as 
if I were any way my own, but entirely and altogether 
God's ; agreeably to what is to be found in Saturday, Jan. 
12th. Jan, 12th, 1723. 

44. Resolved, That no other end but religion, shall have 
any influence at all on any of my actions; and that no 
action shall be, in the least circumstance, any otherwise 
than the religious end will carry it. Jan. 12, 1723. 

45. Resolved, Never to allow any pleasure or grief, joy 
or sorrow, nor any affection at all, nor any degree of af- 
fection, nor any circumstance relating to it, but what helps 
Keligion. Jan. 12 and 13, 1723. 

46. Resolved, Never to allow the least measure of any 
fretting or uneasiness at my father or mother. Resolved, 
To suffer no effects of it, so much as in the least alteration 
of speech, or motion of my eye; and to be especially care- 
ful of it with respect to any of our family. 

47. Resolved, To endeavour, to my utmost, to deny 
whatever is not most agreeable to a good and universally 
sweet and benevolent, quiet, peaceable, contented and easy, 
compassionate and generous, humble and meek, submissive 
and obliging, diligent and industrious, charitable and 
even, patient, moderate, forgiving and sincere, temper; 
and to do, at all times, what such a temper would lead me 
to; and to examine strictly, at the end of every week, 
whether I have so done. Sahhath Morning, May 5, 1723. 

48. Resolved, Constantly, with the utmost niceness and 



EESOLUTIONS 239 

diligence, and the strictest scrutiny, to be looking into the 
state of my soul, that I may know whether I have truly 
an interest in Christ or not ; that when I come to die, I 
may not have any negligence respecting this, to repent of. 
May 26, 1723. 

49. Resolved, That this never shall be, if I can help it. 

50. Resolved, That I will act so, as I think I shall judge 
would have been best, and most prudent, when I come 
into the future world. July 5, 1723. 

51. Resolved, That I will act so, in every respect, as I 
think I shall wish I had done, if I should at last be 
damned. July 8, 1723. 

52. I frequently hear persons in old age, say how they 
would live, if they were to live their lives over again: 
Resolved, That I will live just so as I can think I shall 
wish I had done, supposing I live to old age. July 8, 1723. 

53. Resolved, To improve every opportunity, when I 
am in the best and happiest frame of mind, to cast and 
venture my soul on the Lord Jesus Christ, to trust and 
confide in him, and consecrate myself wholly to him ; that 
from this I may have assurance of my safety, knowing 
that I confide in my Redeemer. July 8, 1723. 

54. Resolved, Whenever I hear any thing spoken in 
commendation of any person, if I think it would be 
praiseworthy in me, that I will endeavour to imitate it. 
July 8, 1723. 

55. Resolved, To endeavour, to my utmost, so to act, as 
I can think I should do, if I had already seen the happi- 
ness of Heaven, and Hell torments. July 8, 1723. 

56. Resolved, Never to give over, nor in the least to 
slacken, my fight with my corruptions, however unsuc- 
cessful I may be. 

57. Resolved, When I fear misfortunes and adversity, 
to examine whether I have done my duty, and resolve to 
do it, and let the event be just as Providence orders it. 
I will, as far as I can, be concerned about nothing but my 
duty, and my sin. June 9, and July 13, 1723. 

58. Resolved, Not only to refrain from an air of dis- 
like, fretfulness, and anger in conversation, but to exhibit 
an air of love, cheerfulness and benignity. May 27, and 
July 13, 1723. 

59. Resolved, When I am most conscious of provocations 
to ill-nature and anger, that I will strive most to feel and 



240 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

act good-naturedly; yea, at such, times, to manifest good- 
nature, though I think that in other respects it would be, 
disadvantageous, and so as would be imprudent at other 
times. May 12, July 11, and July 13. 

60. Resolved, Whenever my feelings begin to appear in 
the least out of order, when I am conscious of the least 
uneasiness within, or the least irregularity without, I will 
then subject myself to the strictest examination. July 4, 
and 13, 1723. 

61. Resolved, That I will not give way to that listless- 
ness which I find unbends and relaxes my mind from be- 
ing fully and fixedly set on religion, whatever excuse I 
may have for it — ^that what my listlessness inclines me to 
do, is best to be done, &c. May 21, and July 13, 1723. 

62. Resolved, Never to do any thing but my duty, and 
then according to Eph. vi. 6 — 8, to do it willingly and 
cheerfully, as unto the Lord, and not to man: knowing 
that whatever good thing any man doth, the same shall he 
receive of the Lord. June 25, and July 13, 1723. 

63. On the supposition, that there never was to be but 
one individual in the world, at any one time, who was 
properly a complete christian, in all respects of a right 
stamp, having Christianity always shining in its true 
lustre, and appearing excellent and lovely, from whatever 
part and under whatever character viewed: Resolved, To 
act just as I would do, if I strove with all my might to 
be that one, who should live in my time. Jan, 14, and 
July 13, 1723. 

64. Resolved, When I find those ''groanings which can- 
not he uttered f' of which the Apostle speaks, and those 
''hreahings of soul for the longing it hath,'' of which the 
Psalmist speaks. Psalm cxix, 20, That I will promote them 
to the utmost of my power, and that I will not be weary 
of earnestly endeavouring to vent my desires, nor of the 
repetitions of such earnestness. July 23, and August 10, 
1723. 

65. Resolved, Yery much to exercise myself in this, all 
my life long, viz. With the greatest openness, of which I 
am capable, to declare my ways to God, and lay open my 
soul to him, all my sins, temptations, difficulties, sorrows, 
fears, hopes, desires, and every thing, and every circum- 
stance, according to Dr. Manton's Sermon on the 119th 
Psalm. July 26, and Aug. 10, 1723. 



DIAKY 241 

66. Resolved, That I will endeavour always to keep a 
benign aspect and air of acting and speaking in all places, 
and in all companies, except it should so happen that duty- 
requires otherwise. 

67. Resolved, After afflictions, to enquire. What I am 
the better for them ; What good I have got by them ; and. 
What I might have got by them. 

68. Resolved, To confess frankly to myself all that 
which I find in myself, either infirmity or sin; and, if it 
be what concerns religion, also to confess the whole case 
to God, and implore needed help. July 23, and August 
10, 1723. 

69. Resolved, Always to do that, which I shall wish I 
had done when I see others do it. Aug, 11, 1723. 

70. Let there be something of benevolence, in all that I 
speak. Aug, 17, 1723. 

DIAET 

Dec. 18 [1722] . This day made the 35th Resolution. The 
reason why I, in the least, question my interest in God's 
love and favour, is, — 1. Because I cannot speak so fully 
to my experience of that preparatory work, of which di- 
vines speak: — 2. I do not remember that I experienced 
regeneration, exactly in those steps, in which divines say 
it is generally wrought: — 3. I do not feel the christian 
graces sensibly enough, particularly faith. I fear they 
are only such hypocritical outside affections, which wicked 
men may feel, as well as others. They do not seem to be 
sufficiently inward, full, sincere, entire and hearty. They 
do not seem so substantial, and so wrought into my very 
nature, as I could wish.— 4. Because I am sometimes 
guilty of sins of omission and commission. Lately I have 
doubted, whether I do not transgress in evil speaking. 
This day, resolved, No. 

. Dec, 19. This day made the 36th Resolution. Lately, 
I have been very much perplexed, by seeing the doctrine 
of different degrees in glory questioned; but now have 
almost got over the difficulty. 

Dec, 20. This day somewhat questioned, whether I 
had not been guilty of negligence yesterday, and this 
morning; but resolved, No. 

Dec, 21, Friday. This day, and yesterday, I was ex- 
ceedingly dull, dry and dead. 



242 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

Dec, 22, Saturday, This day, revived by God's Holy 
Spirit; affected with the sense of the excellency of holi- 
ness; felt more exercise of love to Christ, than usual. 
Have, also, felt sensible repentance for sin, because it was 
committed against so merciful and good a God. This 
night made the 37th Resolution. 

Sabhaih-night, Dec. 23. Made the 38th Resolution. 

Monday, Dec, 24. Higher thoughts than usual of the 
excellency of Christ and his kingdom. — Concluded to 
observe, at the end of every month, the number of breaches 
of Resolutions, to see whether they increase or diminish, 
to begin from this day, and to compute from that the 
weekly account, my monthly increase, and, out of the 
whole, my yearly increase, beginning from new year days. 

Wednesday, Dec. 2^. Early in the morning yesterday, 
was hindered by the head-ache all day; though I hope I 
did not lose much. Made an addition to the 37th Resolu- 
tion, concerning weeks, months and years. At night; 
made the 33d Resolution. 

Saturday, Dec. 29. About sunset this day, dull and 
lifeless. 

1722-23. Tuesday, Jan. 1. Have been dull for sev- 
eral days. Examined whether I have not been guilty of 
negligence to-day; and resolved. No. 

Wednesday, Jan. 2. Dull. I find, by experience, that, 
let me make Resolutions, and do what I will, with never 
so many inventions, it is all nothing, and to no purpose at 
all, without the motions of the Spirit of God; for if the 
Spirit of God should be as much withdrawn from me al- 
ways, as for the week past, notwithstanding all I do, I 
should not grow, but should languish, and miserably fade 
away. I perceive, if God should withdraw his Spirit a 
little more, I should not hesitate to break my Resolutions, 
and should soon arrive at my old state. There is no 
dependence on myself. Our resolutions may be at the 
highest one day, and yet, the next day, we may be in a 
miserable dead condition, not at all like the same person 
who resolved. So that it is to no purpose to resolve, ex- 
cept we depend on the grace of God. For, if it were not 
for his mere grace, one might be a very good man one day, 
and a very wicked one the next. I find also by experi- 
ence, that there is no guessing out the ends of Providence, 
in particular dispensations towards nie---any otherwise 



DIAET 243 

than as afflictions come as corrections for sin, and God 
intends when we meet with them, to desire ns to look back 
on our ways, and see wherein we have done amiss, and 
lament that particular sin, and all our sins, before him : — 
knowing this, also, that all things shall work together for 
our good; not knowing in what way, indeed, but trusting 
in God. 

Saturday evening, Jan. 5. A little redeemed from a 
long dreadful dulness, about reading the Scriptures. This 
week, have been unhappily' low in the weekly account: — 
and what are the reasons of it ? — abundance of listlessness 
and sloth; and, if this should continue much longer, I 
perceive that other sins will begin to discover themselves. 
It used to appear to me, that I had not much sin remain- 
ing; but now, I perceive that there are great remainders 
of sin. Where may it not bring me to, if God should leave 
me? Sin is not enough mortified. Without the influ- 
ences of the Spirit of God, the old serpent would begin 
to rouse up himself from his frozen state, and would come 
to life again. Resolved, That I have been negligent in 
two things : — in not striving enough in duty ; and in not 
forcing myself upon religious thoughts. 

Sdbhath, Jan. 6. At night; Much concerned about the 
improvement of precious time. Intend to live in contin- 
ual mortification, without ceasing, and even to weary my- 
self thereby, as long as I am in this world, and never to 
expect or desire any worldly ease or pleasure. 

Monday, Jan, 7. At night, made the 40th Resolution. 

Tuesday, Jan, 8. In the morning, had higher thoughts 
than usual of the excellency of Christ, and felt an unusual 
repentance of sin therefrom. 

Wednesday, Jan, 9. At night: Decayed. I am some- 
times apt to think, that I have a great deal more of holi- 
ness than I really have. I find now and tl^en that abom- 
inable corruption, which is directly contrary to what I 
read of eminent christians. I do not seem to be half so 
careful to improve time, to do every thing quick, and in 
as short a time as I possibly can, nor to be perpetually 
engaged to think about religion, as I was yesterday and 
"the day before, nor indeed as I have been at certain times, 
perhaps a twelve month ago. If my . resolutions of that 
nature, from that time, had always been kept alive and 
awake, how much better might I have been, than I now 



244 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

am. How deceitful is my heart ! I take up a strong reso- 
lution, but how soon doth it weaken. 

Thursday, Jan, 10, about noon. Recovering. It is a 
great dishonour to Christ, in whom I hope I have an in- 
terest, to be uneasy at my worldly state and condition; or, 
when I see the prosperity of others, and that all things go 
easy with them, the world is smooth to them, and they 
are very happy in many respects, and very prosperous, or 
are advanced to much honour ; to grudge them their pros- 
perity, or envy them on account of it, or to be in the least 
uneasy at it, to wish and long for the same prosperity, and 
to desire that it should ever be so with me. Wherefore, 
concluded always to rejoice in every one's prosperity, and 
not to pretend to expect or desire it for myself, and to 
expect no happiness of that nature, as long as I live; but 
to depend on afflictions, and to betake myself entirely to 
another happiness. — I think I find myself much more 
sprightly and healthy, both in body and mind, for my 
self-denial in eating, drinking and sleeping. I think it 
would be advantageous, every morning to consider my 
business and temptations, and the sins to which I shall be 
exposed on that day, and to make a resolution how to im- 
prove the day, and avoid those sins, and so at the begin- 
ning of every week, month and year. I never knew be- 
fore what was meant, by not setting our hearts on those 
things. It is, not to care about them, nor to depend upon 
them, nor to afflict ourselves with the fear of losing them, 
nor to please ourselves with the expectation of obtaining 
them, or with the hopes of their continuance. — At night; 
made the 41st Resolution. 

Saturday, Jan. 12. In the morning. I have this day, 
solemnly renewed my baptismal covenant and self -dedica- 
tion, which I renewed, when I was taken into the com- 
munion of the church. I have been before God, and have 
given myself, all that I am, and have, to God ; so that I 
am not, in any respect, my own. I can challenge no right 
in this understanding, this will, these affections, which 
are in me. Neither have I any right to this body or any 
of its members — no right to this tongue, these hands, these 
feet; no right to these senses, these eyes, these ears, this 
smell, or this taste. I have given myself clear away, and 
have not retained any thing, as my own. I gave myseK 
to God, in my baptism, and I have been this morning to 



DIAEY 245 

him, and told him, that I gave myself wholly to him. I 
have given every power to him; so that for the future, 
I'll challenge no right in myself, in no respect whatever. 
I have expressly promised him, and I do now promise Al- 
mighty God, that by his grace, I will not. I have this 
morning told him, that I did take Him for my whole por- 
tion and felicity, looking on nothing else, as any part of 
my happiness, nor acting as if it were; and his Law, for 
the constant rule of my obedience; and would fight, with 
all my might, against the world, the flesh and the devil, to 
the end of my life ; and that I did believe in Jesus Christ, 
and did receive him as a Prince and Saviour; and that I 
would adhere to the faith and obedience of the Gospel, 
however hazardous and difficult, the confession and prac- 
tice of it may be ; and that I did receive the blessed Spirit, 
as my Teacher, Sanctifier, and only Comforter, and cher- 
ish all his motions to enlighten, purify, confirm, comfort 
and assist me. This, I have done ; and I pray God, for 
the sake of Christ, to look upon it as a self-dedication, 
and to receive me now, as entirely his own, and to deal 
with me, in all respects, as such, whether he afflicts me, 
or prospers me, or whatever he pleases to do with me, 
who am his. Now, henceforth, I am not to act, in any 
respect, as my own. — -I shall act as my own, if I ever make 
use of any of my powers, to any thing, that is not to the 
glory of God, and do not make the glorifying of him, my 
whole and entire business : — if I murmur in the least at 
affliction; if I grieve at the prosperity of others; if I ant 
in any way uncharitable; if I am angry, because of in- 
juries; if I revenge them; if I do any thing, purely to 
please myself, or if I avoid any thing, for the sake of my 
own ease; if I omit any thing, because it is great self- 
denial; if I trust to myself; if I take any of the praise of 
any good that I do, or that God doth by me; or if I am 
in any way proud. This day, made the 42d and 43d 
Resolutions: — Whether or no, any other end ought to 
have any influence at all, on any of my actions; or, 
whether any action ought to be any otherwise, in any re- 
spect, than it would be, if nothing else but religion had 
the least influence on my mind. Wherefore, I make the 
44th Resolution. 

Query : Whether any deli-ght, or satisfaction, ought to 
be allowed, because any other end is obtained, beside a 



S46 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

religious one. In tlie afternoon, I answer, Yes; because, 
if we should never suffer ourselves to rejoice, but because 
we have obtained a religious end, we should never rejoice 
at the sight of friends, we should not allow ourselves any 
pleasure in our food, whereby the animal spirits would be 
withdrawn, and good digestion hindered. But the query 
is to be answered thus : — We never ought to allow any 
joy or sorrow, but what helps religion. Wherefore, I 
make the 45th Resolution. 

The reason why I so soon grow lifeless, and unfit for 
the business I am about, I have found out, is only be- 
cause I have been used to suffer myself to leave off, for 
the sake of ease, and so, I have acquired a habit of ex- 
pecting ease; and therefore, when I think I have exercised 
myself a great while, I cannot keep myself to it any 
longer, because I expect to be released, as my due and 
right. And then, I am deceived, as if I were really tired 
and weary. Whereas, if I did not expect ease, and was 
resolved to occupy myself by business, as much as I could; 
I should continue with the same vigour at my business, 
without vacation time to rest. Thus, I have found it in 
reading the scriptures; and thus, I have found it in 
prayer; and thus, I believe it to be in getting sermons by 
heart, and in other things. 

At night This week, the weekly account rose higher 
than ordinary. It is suggested to me, that too constant a 
mortification, and too vigorous application to religion, 
may be prejudicial to health; but nevertheless, I will 
plainly feel it and experience it, before I cease, on this 
account. It is no matter how much tired and weary I 
am, if my health is not impaired. 

Sahhath day, Jan. 13. I plainly feel, that if I should 
continue to go on, as from the beginning of the last week 
hitherto, I should continually grow and increase in grace. 
After the afternoon meeting, made an addition to the 
45th Resolution. At noon; I remember I thought that I 
loved to be a member of Christ, and not any thing dis- 
tinct, but only a part, so as to have no separate interest, 
or pleasure of my own. At night, resolved to endeavour 
fully to understand I Cor. vii. 29 — 32, and to act accord- 
ing to it. 

Monday, Jan. 14. About 10 o'clock in the morning 



4 



DIAEY 247 

made this book, and put these papers in it.^ The dedica- 
tion, which I made of myself to God, on Saturday last, 
has been exceedingly useful to me. I thought I had a 
more spiritual insight into the scriptures, when reading 
the 8th of Romans, than ever before. At night Great 
instances of mortification, are deep wounds, given to the 
body of sin; hard blows, which make him stagger and 
reel. We thereby get strong ground and footing against 
him, he is the weaker ever after, and we have easier work 
with him the next time. He grows cowardly; and we can 
easily cause him to give way, until at length, we find it 
easy work with him, and can kill him at pleasure. While 
we live without great instances of mortification and self- 
denial, the old man keeps about where he was; for he is 
sturdy and obstinate, and will not stir for small blows. 
This, without doubt, is one great reason why many chris- 
tians do not sensibly increase in grace. After the great- 
est mortifications, I always find the greatest comfort. 
Wrote the 63d Resolution. Such little things as Chris- 
tians commonly do, will not evince much increase of 
grace. We must do great things for God. — It will be best, 
when I find that I have lost any former ancient good mo- 
tions or actions, to take notice of it, if I can remember 
them. 

Tuesday/, Jan, 15. — Ahoui two or three o'clock. I have 
been all this time decaying. It seemed yesterday, the day 
before, and Saturday, that I should always retain the same 
resolutions to the same height. But alas! how soon do I 
decay! O how weak, how infirm, how unable to do any 
thing of myself ! What a poor inconsistent being ! What 
a miserable wretch, without the assistance of the Spirit of 
God! While I stand, I am ready to think that I stand 
by my own strength, and upon my own legs; and I am 
ready to triumph over my spiritual enemies, as if it were 
I myself, that caused them to flee : — when alas ! I am but 
a poor infant, upheld by Jesus Christ; who holds me up, 
and gives me liberty to smile, to see my enemies flee, when 
he drives them before me. And so I laugh, as though I 
myself did it, when it is only Jesus Christ leads me along, 
and fights himself against my enemies. And now the 
Lord has a little left me, how weak do I find myself. O 

1 He refers to slips of paper on which the first part of the Diary 
is written ; as far as Jan. 15, at night. 



248 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

let it teach me to depend less on myself, to be more hum- 
ble, and to give more of the praise of my ability to Jesus 
Christ! The heart of man is deceitful above all things 
and desperately wicked : who can know it ! — The occasion 
of my decaying, is a little melancholy. My spirits are 
depressed, because I fear that I lost some friendship the 
last night ; and, my spirits being depressed, my resolutions 
have lost their strength. I differ to-day from yesterday, 
in these things. I do not resolve any thing to-day, half 
so strongly. I am not so perpetually thinking of renew- 
ing my resolutions, as I was then. I am not half so vig- 
orous as I was then; nor am I half so careful to do every 
thing with vigour. Then, I kept continually acting; but 
now, I do things slowly, and satisfy myself by thinking of 
religion in the mean time. I am not so careful to go 
from one business to another. — I felt humiliation, about 
sunset. What shall I do, in order that I may, with a good 
grace, fall into christian discourse and conversation. At 
night. — The next time I am in such a lifeless frame, I 
will force myself to go rapidly from one thing to another, 
and to do those things with vigour, in which vigour would 
ever be useful. The things, which take off my mind, when 
bent on religion, are commonly some remarkable change 
or alteration — ^journies, change of place, change of busi- 
ness, change of studies, and change of other circum- 
stances ; or something that makes me melancholy ; or some 
sin. 

Thursday, Jan. 17. About three o'clock, overwhelmed 
with melancholy. 

Friday, Jan. 18. At night. Beginning to endeavour 
to recover out of the death, I have been in for these sev- 
eral days. 

Sahhath day, Jan. 20. — At night. The last week I was 
sunk so low, that I fear it will be a long time, before I am 
recovered. I fell exceedingly low in the weekly account. 
I find my heart so deceitful, that I am almost discouraged 
from making any more resolutions. — Wherein have I been 
negligent in the week past; and how could I have done 
better, to help the dreadful low estate in which I am 
sunk? 

Monday, Jan. 21. Before sunrise, answered the pre- 
ceding questions thus: I ought to have spent the time in 
bewailing my sins, and in singing Psalms— especially 



DIAEY 249 

psalms or hymns of penitence; these duties being most 
suited to the frame I was in. I do not spend time enough 
in endeavouring to affect myself with the glories of Chris- 
tianity. — Fell short in the monthly account. It seems 
to me, that I am fallen from my former sense of the pleas- 
antness of religion. 

Tuesday, Feb. 5. — At night, I have thought, that this 
being so exceedingly careful, and so particularly anxious, 
to force myself to think of religion, at all times, has ex- 
ceedingly distracted my mind, and made me altogether 
unfit for that, and every thing else. I have thought, that 
this caused the dreadful low condition I was in on the 
15th of January. I think that I stretched myself farther 
than I could bear, and so broke. — But now, it seems to me, 
though I know not why, that I do not do enough to pre- 
pare for another world. I do not seem to press forward, 
to fight and wrestle, as the Apostles used to speak. I do 
not seem so greatly and constantly to mortify and deny 
myself, as the mortification of which they speak repre- 
sents. Therefore, wherein ought I to do more in this 
way? — I answer: I am again grown too careless about 
eating, drinking and sleeping — not careful enough about 
evil speaking. 

Saturday, Feh, 16. I do certainly know that I love 
holiness, such as the Gospel prescribes. At night. For 
the time past of my life, I have been negligent, in that I 
have not sufficiently kept up that part of divine worship, 
singing the praise of God in secret, and with company. — 
I have been negligent the month past, in these three 
things. I have not been watchful enough over my appe- 
tites, in eating and drinking; in rising too late in the 
morning; and in not applying myself with sufficient appli- 
cation to the duty of secret prayer. 

Sahhath day, Feh, 17. — Near sunset, Renewedly prom- 
ised, that I will accept of God for my whole portion, and 
that I will be contented, whatever else I am denied. I 
will not murmur nor be grieved, whatever prosperity upon 
any account I see others enjoy, and I am denied. To this 
I have lately acted contrary. 

Thursday, Feh, 21. I perceive that I never yet have 
adequately known, what was meant by being weaned from 
the world, by not laying up treasure on earth, but in 
heaven, by not having our portion in this life, by making 



250 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

the concerns of another life our whole business, by taking 
God for our whole portion. I find my heart, in great 
part, yet adheres to the earth. O that it might be quite 
separated from thence. I find when I have [not ?] power and 
reputation as others, I am uneasy, and it does not satisfy 
me to tell me, that I have chosen God for my whole por- 
tion, and that I have promised to rest entirely contented 
with him. 

Saturday, Feb. 23. I find myself miserably negligent, 
and that I might do twice the business that I do, if I 
were set upon it. See how soon my thoughts of this mat- 
ter, will be differing from what they are now. I have been 
indulging a horrid laziness a good while, and did not 
know it. I can do seven times as much in the same time 
now, as I can at other times, not because my faculties are 
in better tune; but because of the fire of diligence that I 
feel burning within me. If I could but always continue 
so, I should not meet with one quarter of the trouble. I 
should run the christian race much better, and should go 
out of the world a much better man. 

Saturday, March 2. O how much more base and vile 
am I, when I feel pride working in me, than when I am 
in a more humble disposition of mind! How much, how 
exceedingly much, more lovely is an humble, than a proud, 
disposition ! I now plainly perceive it, and am really sen- 
sible of it. How immensely more pleasant is an humble 
delight, than a high thought of myself! How much bet- 
ter do I feel, when I am truly humbling myself, than when 
I am pleasing myseK with my own perfections. O how 
much pleasanter is humility, than pride. O that God 
would fill me with exceeding great humility, and that he 
would ever more keep me from all pride. The pleasures 
of humility are really the most refined, inward and ex- 
quisite, delights in the world. How hateful is a proud 
man. How hateful is a worm, that lifts up itself with 
pride! What a foolish, silly, miserable, blind, deceived, 
poor worm am I, when pride works! At night. — ^I have 
lately been negligent as to reading the Scriptures. Not- 
withstanding my resolutions on Saturday was se'night, I 
have not been sedulous and diligent enough. 

Wednesday, March 6. — Near sunset. Regarded the 
doctrines of Election, Free Grace, our Inability to do 
any thing without the grace of God, and that Holiness is 



DIAET 251 

entirely, throughout, the work of the Spirit of God, with 
greater pleasure than ever before. 

Thursday, March 1, I think I now suffer from not 
forcing myself enough on religious thoughts. 

Saturday night, March 24. I intend, if I am ever set- 
tled, to concert measures, and study methods, of doing^ 
good in the world, and to dj^aw up rules of acting in this 
matter, in writing, of all the methods I can possibly de- 
vise, by which I can in any respect do good. 

Saturday night, March 31. This week I have been too 
careless about eating. 

Monday morning, April 1. I think it best not to allow 
myself to laugh at the faults, follies and infirmities of 
others. 

Saturday night, April 1, This week I found myself so 
far gone, that it seemed to me I should never recover 
more. Let God of his mercy return unto me, and no 
more leave me thus to sink and decay! I know, O Lord, 
that without thy help I shall fall, innumerable times, 
notwithstanding all my resolutions, how often soever 
repeated. 

Saturday night, April 13. I could pray more heartily 
this night for the forgiveness of my enemies, than ever 
before. — I am somewhat apt, after having asked one peti- 
tion over many times, to be weary of it; but I am now 
resolved not to give way to such a disposition. 

W ednesday forenoon. May 1. Last night I came home, 
after my melancholy parting from New York. 

I have always, in every different state of life I have 
hitherto been in, thought that the troubles and difficulties 
of that state were greater, than those of any other state 
that I proposed to be in; and when I have altered, with 
assurance of mending myself, I have still thought the 
same, yea that the difficulties of that state are greater 
than those of that I left last. Lord, grant that from hence 
I may learn to withdraw my thoughts, affections, desires 
and expectations entirely from the world, and may fix 
them upon the heavenly state, where there is fulness of 
joy; where reigns heavenly, sweet, calm and delightful 
love without alloy; where there are continually the dear- 
est expressions of this love; where there is the enjoyment 
of this love without ever parting ; and where those persons, 
who appear so lovely in this world, will be inexpressibly 



252 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

more lovely, and full of love to us. How sweetly will 
those, who thus mutually love, join together in singing the 
praises of God and the Lamb. How full will it fill us 
with joy, to think that this enjoyment, these sweet exer- 
cises, will never cease or come to an end, but will last to 
all eternity. Remember after journeys, removals, over- 
turnings and alterations in the state of my life, to reflect 
and consider, whether therein I have managed the best 
way possible respecting my soul; and before such altera- 
tions, if foreseen, to resolve" how to act. 

Thursday, May 2. — Afternoon, I observe this, that 
when I was at New York, when I meditated on things of 
a religious nature, I used to conceive of myself as walk- 
ing in the fields at home; but now I am at home, I con- 
ceive of myself as walking in the fields, which I used to 
frequent at New York. I think it a very good way, to 
examine dreams every morning when I awake; what are 
the nature, circumstances, principles and ends of my im- 
aginary actions and passions in them; in order to discern 
what are my prevailing inclinations, &c. 

Saturday night. May 4. Although I have, in some 
measure, subdued a disposition to chide and fret, yet I 
find a certain inclination, which is not agreeable to chris- 
tian sweetness of temper and conversation: either too 
much dogmaticalness or too much egotism, a disposition 
to manifest my own dislike and scorn, and my own free- 
dom from those which are innocent, sinless, yea common 
infirmities of men, and many other such like things. O 
that God would help me to discover all the flaws and de- 
fects of my temper and conversation, and help me in the 
difficult work of amending them; and that he would grant 
me so full a measure of vital Christianity, that the foun- 
dation of all these disagreeable irregularities may be de- 
stroyed, and the contrary sweetnesses and beauties may of 
themselves naturally follow. 

Sahhath morning , May 5. Made the 47th Resolution. 

Monday morning. May 6. I think it best commonly to 
come before God three times in a day, except I find a great 
inaptitude to that duty. 

Saturday night. May 11. I have been to blame, the 
month past, in not laying violence enough to my inclina- 
tion, to force myself to a better improvement of time. 
Have been tardy with respect to the 47th Resolution. 



DIAKT 253 

Have also been negligent about keeping my thoughts^ 
when joining with others in prayer. 

Sabhath-day morning , May 12. I have lost that relish 
of the Scriptures and other good books, which I had ^\e 
or six months ago. Resolved, When I find in myself the 
least disposition to exercise good nature, that I will then 
strive most to feel good naturedly. At noon. — Observe 
to remember the meditations which I had at Westchester, 
as I was coming from New York; and those which I had 
in the orchard; and those under the oak-tree. This day, 
and the last night, I read over and reviewed those reflex- 
ions and remarks, which I find to be a very beneficial 
thing to me. — After the afternoon meeting. — I think I 
find in my heart to be glad from the hopes I have, that 
my eternity is to be spent in spiritual and holy joys, aris- 
ing from the manifestation of God's love, and the exer- 
cise of holiness, and a burning love to him. 

Saturday night. May 18. This week past, spent in jour- 
neying to Norwich, and the towns thereabouts. This day 
returned, and received a letter, from my dear friend, Mr. 
John Smith. — The last Wednesday, took up a resolution, 
to refrain from all manner of evil speaking, for one week, 
to try it, and see the effect of it : hoping, if that evil speak- 
ing, which I used to allow myself in, and to account law- 
ful, agreeably to the resolutions I have formed concern- 
ing it, were not lawful, or best, I should hereby discover 
it, and get the advantage of temptations to it, and so de- 
ceive myself, into a strict adherence to my duty, respect- 
ing that matter; — that that corruption, which I cannot 
conquer by main strength, I may get the victory of by 
stratagem. I find the effect of it already to be, to make 
me apt to take it for granted, that what I have resolved 
on this week, is a duty to be observed for ever. 

I now plainly perceive, what great obligations I am 
under, to love and honour my parents. I have great rea- 
son to believe, that their counsel and education, have been 
my making; though, in the time of it, it seemed to do me 
so little good. I have good reason to hope, that their 
prayers for me have been, in many things, very powerful 
and prevalent, that God has, in many things, taken me 
under his care and guidance, provision and direction, in 
answer to their prayers for me. I was never made so sen- 
sible of it, as now. 



254 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

I ttink it the best way, in general, not to seek for hon- 
our, in any other way, than by seeking to be good, and 
to do good. I may pursue knowledge, religion, the glory 
of God, and the good of mankind, with the utmost vigour ; 
but, am to leave the honour of it, entirely at God's dis- 
posal, as a thing with which I have no immediate concern ; 
no, not although, by possessing that honour, I have the 
greater opportunity to do good. 

Mem. To be particularly careful, lest I should be tardy 
in any point, wherein I have been negligent, or have erred, 
in days, weeks, months, or years past. 

Sahhath-day morning^ May 19. With respect to my 
journey last week, I was not careful enough, to watch op- 
portunities of solemnly approaching to God, three times a 
day. The last week, when I was about to take up the 
Wednesday resolution, it was proposed to me, in my 
thoughts, to omit it until I got home again, because there 
would be a more convenient opportunity. Thus am I 
ready to look at any thing as an excuse, to grow slack in 
my Christian course. — At night. Concluded to add to 
my enquiries, as to the spending of time — at the begin- 
ning of the day, or the period, What can I do for the good 
of men? — and, at the end, What have I done for their 
good? 

Tuesday morning^ May 21. My conscience is, un- 
doubtedly, more calm, since my last Wednesday resolution, 
than it was before. 

Wednesday morning. May 22. Memorandum. To take 
special care of the following things : evil speaking, fret- 
ting, eating, drinking and sleeping, speaking simple ver- 
ity, joining in prayer, slightiness in secret prayer, listless- 
ness and negligence, and thoughts that cherish sin. 

Saturday morning. May 25. As I was this morning 
reading the 17th Resolution, it was suggested to me, that 
if I were now to die, I should wish that I had prayed 
more, that God would make me know my state, whether it 
be good or bad, and that I had taken more pains and care, 
to see and narrowly search into that matter. Wherefore, 
Mem. for the future, most nicely and diligently to look 
into the opinions of our old divines, concerning conver- 
sion. This morning made the 48th Resolution. 

Monday afternoon. May 27. Memorandum. Not only 
to keep from an air of dislike, anger and fretfulness, in 



DIAEY 255 

discourse or conversation ; but, let me also have as much 
of an appearance of love, cheerfulness, and benignity, as 
may be, with a good grace. — These following things, espe- 
cially, to beware of, in order to the better observation of 
the 47th Resolution : distrust, discontent, uneasiness, and 
a complaining temper, self-opinion, self-confidence, mel- 
ancholy, moroseness, slight antipathy, privacy, indolence, 
and want of resolution — ^to beware of anything in dis- 
course or conversation that savours of these. 

Saturday night, June 8, at Boston, When I find my- 
self listless and dull, and not easily affected by reading 
religious books, then to read my resolutions, remarks, re- 
flexions, &c. — One thing, that would be of great advantage 
to me, in reading to my profit, would be, the endeavour- 
ing, with all my might, to keep the image and picture of 
the thing in my mind, and be careful that I do not lose it, 
in the chain of the discourse. 

Sahhath-day, June 9, after the afternoon meeting. 
Mem. When I fear misfortunes, to examine whether I 
have done my duty; and at the same time, to resolve to 
do it, and let it go, and be concerned about nothing, but 
my duty and my sin. 

Saturday morning,, June 15, at Windsor. Have been to 
blame, this journey, with respect to strict temperance, in 
eating, drinking and sleeping, and in suffering too small 
matters to give interruption to my wonted chain of re- 
ligious exercises. — Concluded to protract the Wednesday 
Eesolution, to the end of my life. 

Tuesday morning, June 18. Mem. To do that part, 
which I conveniently can, of my stated exercise, while 
about other business, such as self-examination, resolutions, 
&c., that I may do the remainder in less time. 

Friday afternoon, June 21. I have abundant cause, O 
my merciful Father, to love thee ardently, and greatly, to 
bless and praise thee, that thou hast heard me, in my 
earnest request, and so hast answered my prayer, for 
mercy, to keep me from decay and sinking. O, graciously, 
of thy mere goodness, still continue to pity my misery, by 
reason of my sinfulness. O, my dear Redeemer, I commit 
myself, together with my prayer and thanksgiving, into 
thine hand! 

Saturday morning, June 22. Altered the 36th Resolu- 
tion, to make it the same with the Wednesday Resolution. 



256 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

If I should take special care, every day, to rise above, or 
not to fall below, or to fall as little as I possibly could, 
below what I was the day before, it would be of great ad- 
vantage to me. — I take notice, that most of these deter- 
minations, when I first resolve them, seem as if they would 
be much more beneficial, than I find them. 

Tuesday morning, June 25. Last Sabbath, at Boston, 
reading the 6th, 7th, and 8th verses of the 6th to the Ephe- 
sians, concluded that it would be much to my advantage, 
to take the greatest care, never to do any thing but my 
duty, and then to do it willingly, cheerfully, and gladly, 
whatever danger or unpleasant circumstances it may be 
attended with; with good-will doing it, as to the Lord, 
not as pleasing man, or myself, knowing that whatsoever 
good thing any man doth, the same shall he receive of the 
Lord. 

Saturday nfiorning, June 25. It is best to be careful in 
prayer, not to put up those petitions, of which I do not 
feel a sincere desire: thereby, my prayer is rendered less 
sincere, less acceptable to God, and less useful to myself. 

Monday noon, July 1. I find I am not careful enough, 
to keep out all thoughts, but religious ones, on the Sab- 
bath. When I find the least uneasiness, in doing my 
duty, to fiy to the 43d Resolution. 

W ednesday night, July 3. I am too negligent, with 
respect to improving petty opportunities of doing good; 
thinking, that the good will be very small, and unextend- 
ed, and not worth the pains. Resolved, to regulate this, 
as that which is wrong, and what ought not to be. — ^Again 
confirmed, by experience, of the happy effects of a strict 
temperance, with respect both to body and mind. 

Thursday morning, July 4. The last night, in bed, 
when thinking of death, I thought, if I was then to die, 
that, which would make me die, in the least degree fear- 
fully would be, the want of a trusting and relying on 
Jesus Christ, so distinctly and plainly, as has been de- 
scribed by divines; my not having experienced so partic- 
ular a venturing, and entirely trusting my soul on Christ, 
after the fears of hell, and terrors of the Lord, encouraged 
by the mercy, faithfulness and promises, of God, and the 
gracious invitations of Christ. Then, I thought I could 
go out of the world, as much assured of my salvation, as I 
was of Christ's faithfulness, knowing that, if Christ did 



DIARY 257 

not fail me, he would save me, who had trusted in him, on 
his word. At night. — Whenever things begin to seem in 
the least out of order, when things begin to feel uneasy 
within, or irregular without, then to examine myself, by 
the strictest examination. — Resolved, for the future, to 
observe rather more of meekness, moderation and temper, 
in disputes. 

Friday morning, July 5. Last night, when thinking^ 
what I should wish I had done, that I had not done, if I 
was then to die; I thought I should wish, that I had been 
more importunate with God, to fit me for death, and lead 
me into all truth, and that I might not be deceived, about 
the state of my soul. — In the forenoon, made the 50th 
Resolution. 

Thursday night, July 11. This day, too impatient, at 
the Church meeting. Snares and briars have been in my 
way, this afternoon. It is good, at such times, for one to 
manifest good nature, even to one's disadvantage, and so 
as would be imprudent, at other times. 

Saturday morning, July 13. Transferred the conclu- 
sion of June 9, to the Resolution, No. 57; and the conclu- 
sion of May 27, to No. 58; and May 12, and July 11, to 
No. 59; and of July 4, at night, to No. 60; and of May 24, 
to No. 61 ; and of June 25, to No. 62 ; and, about noon, the 
Resolution of January 14, to No. 63. — In times past, I 
have been too free, in judging of the hearts of men, from 
their actions. 

Thursday, July 18, near sunset. Resolved, to make 
sure of that sign, which the Apostle James gives, of a 
perfect man: James iii. 2. "If any man offend not in 
word, the same is a perfect man, and able, also, to bridle 
the whole body." 

Friday afternoon, July 19. I Peter, ii. 18. Servants, 
be subject to your masters, with all fear; not only to the 
good and gentle, but also to the froward : How then, ought 
children to honour their parents. — This verse, together 
with the two following, viz. "For this is thank-worthy, if 
a man, for conscience toward God, endure grief, suffering 
wrongfully; for what glory is it, if, when ye be buffeted 
for your faults, ye shall take it patiently; but if, when 
ye do well and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is 
acceptable with God.'' 

Saturday noon, July 20. Dr. Manton's Sermon, on the 



258 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

119th Psalm, pp. 140, 141, Of Evil-speaking, Use 2d. To 
them that either devise or receive reproaches. Both are 
very sinful. Hypocrites, and men that put themselves 
into a garb of religion, are all for censuring, take a mighty 
freedom that way : these men bewray the rottenness of 
their hearts. — ^Alas, in our own sight, we should be the 
worst of men. The children of God do ever thus speak of 
themselves, as the least of saints, the greatest of sinners — 
^'more brutish than any man" — ^^of sinners, whereof I am. 
the chief." You rob them of the most precious treasure. 
He that robs thee of thy name, is the worst kind of thief. 
Prov. xxii. 1. "A good name is rather to be chosen, than 
great riches." — Object. But, must we, in no case, speak 
evil of another; or may we not speak of another's sin, in 
any case? — Solution 1. It is a very hard matter, to speak 
evil of another, without sin. — In one way, or another, we 
shall dash upon the command: better let it alone. — ^If 
you speak of the failings of another, it should be, with 
tenderness, and grief; as, when they are incorrigible, and 
likely to infect others; or, when it is for the manifest 
glory of God. — To them, that receive the slander; he is a 
slanderer, who wrongs his neighbour's credit, by uphold- 
ing an ill-report against him. 

Monday afternoon, July 22. I find, it would be desir- 
able, on many accounts, always to endeavor, to wear a be- 
nign aspect, and air of acting and speaking, in all com- 
panies except it should so happen, that duty requires it 
otherwise. — I am afraid, I am now defective, in not doing 
whatever my hand finds to do, with my might, with re- 
spect to my particular affairs. Remember to watch, see 
and know how it is. Vid. Aug. 31. — I see there is danger, 
of my being drawn into transgression, by the power of 
such temptations, as the fear of seeming uncivil, and of 
offending friends. Watch against it. — I might still help 
myself, and yet not hurt myself, by going, with greater 
expedition, from one thing to another, without being quite 
so nice. 

Tuesday afternoon, July 23. When I find those groan- 
ings which cannot he uttered, of which the Apostle speaks, 
and those soul-hreahings for the longing it hath, of which 
the Psalmist speaks, (Ps. cxix. 20,) Resolved, to favour 
and promote them, to the utmost of my power, and not to 
be weary of earnestly endeavouring to vent my desires, 



DIARY 259 

'""To^con^nt^t IlTf °^ f^ repetitions of such earnestness, 
io count It all joy, when I have occasions of great self- 
denial; because, then, I have a glorious opportunity of 
giving deadly wounds to the body of sin, and of grTat?v 
confirming, and establishing the new creature I seek to 
mortify sm, and increase in holiness. These are the bes? 
opportunities, according to Jan 14 * 

To improve afflictions, of all kinds, as blessed opportu- 
n ties of forcibly bearing on, in my Christian course not 
withstanding that which is so very apt to discourag; me" 
and to damp the vigour of my mind, and to make me l^e 
fe «i^' «^, opportunities of trusting and confiding in 
StJ' V i^t"™^ ^ }^^'^ °^ '° *^oi°^' according to the 
iltfcTl ""11 """^ fi an opportunity of rending my 
heart off from the world, and setting it on heaven alone 
according to Jan. 10, and the 43d and 45th Eesolutions • 
and, according to Jan. 12, Feb. 17, and 21, and May 1^ 
10 improve them, also, as opportunities to repent of and 
bewail my sm, and abhor myself, and as a blessed opportu- 
nity to exercise patience, to trust in God, and divert my 
mmd from the affliction, by fixing myself in religious 71 
ercises. Also, et me comfort myself, that it is the vej^ 
nature of afflictions, to make the heart better: and if I 
am made better by them, what need I be concerned, 'how- 
ever grievous they seem, for the present. 

Wednesday night July 24. I begin to find the success 
of my striving, m joining with others, in the worship of 
God; insomuch, that there is a prospect, of making it easy 
and delightful, and very profitable, in time. Wherefore 
double it ''''* *" ''^^^^ striving, but to continue it, and re- 

hI^r',t\'l°''T^'. -^^^^ ^^. ^^t^^e'^' ^^<^ anew estab- 
libhed, the 8th Resolution. Also, established my deter- 
mination of April 1.— Memorandum. At a convenient 
time, to make an alphabet of these Resolutions and Re- 
marks, that I may be able to educe them, on proper occa- 
sions, suitahle to the condition I am in, and the duty I 
am engaged m. ' j- ■■■ 

Friday afternoon, July 26. To be particularly careful, 
to keep up, inviolably, a trust and reliance, ease and en- 
tire rest, m God, in all conditions, according to the 57th 
Resolution ; for this, I have found to be wonderfully ad- 
vantageous to me.~At night. Resolved, very much to 



260 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

exercise myself in this, all my life long: viz. with the 
greatest openness, of which I am capable, to declare my 
ways to God, and lay open my soul to him: — all my sins, 
temptations, difficulties, sorrows, fears, hopes, desires, and 
every thing, and every circumstance, according to Dr. 
Manton's 27th Sermon on the 119th Psalm. 

Saturday forenoon, July 27. When I am violently be- 
set with temptation, or cannot rid myself of evil thoughts, 
to do some sum in Arithmetic, or Geometry, or some 
other study, which necessarily engages all my thoughts, 
and unavoidably keeps them from wandering. 

Monday afternoon, July 29. When I am concerned 
how I shall prepare any thing to public acceptance, to be 
very careful that I have it very clear to me, to do what is 
duty and prudence in the matter. — I sometimes find my- 
self able to trust God, and to be pretty easy when the 
event is uncertain; but I find it difficult, when I am con- 
vinced beforehand, that the event will be adverse. I find 
that this arises, 1. From my want of faith, to believe that 
that particular advantage will be more to my advantage, 
than disadvantage : 2. From the want of a due sense of 
the real preferableness of that good, which will be ob- 
tained, to that which is lost : 3. From the want of a spirit 
of adoption. 

Tuesday night, July 30. Have concluded to endeavour 
to work myself into duties by searching and tracing back 
all the real reasons why I do them not, and narrowly 
searching out all the subtle subterfuges of my thoughts, 
and answering them to the utmost of my power, that I 
may know what are the very first originals of my defect, 
as with respect to want of repentance, love to God, loath- 
ing of myself, — to do this sometimes in sermons. — Yid, 
Resolution 8. Especially, to take occasion therefrom, to 
bewail those sins of which I have been guilty, that are 
akin to them; as for instance, from pride in others, to 
take occasion to bewail my pride; from their malice, to 
take occasion to bewail the same in myself: when I am 
evil-spoken of, to take occasion to bewail my evil speak- 
ing: and so of other sins. Mem. To receive slanders 
and reproaches, as glorious opportunities of doing this. 

Wednesday afternoon, July 31. After afflictions, to 
enquire, what I am the better for them; what good I have 
got by them ; and what I might have got by them. — Never, 



DIAEY 261 

in the least, to seek to hear sarcastical relations of others' 
faults. Never to give credit to any thing said against 
others, except there is very plain reason for it; nor to 
behave in any respect otherwise for it. 

Sahhath morning, Aug, 4. Concluded at last, at those 
times when I am in the best frames, to set down the as- 
pirations of my heart, as soon as I can get time. 

Tuesday afternoon, Aug. 6. Very much convinced of 
the extraordinary deceitfulness of the heart, and how 
exceedingly affection or appetite blinds the mind, and 
brings it into entire subjection. There are many things 
which I should really think to be my duty, if I had the 
same affections, as when I first came from New York; 
which now I think not so to be. How doth Appetite 
stretch the Reason, to bring both ends together. 

Wednesday forenoon, Aug. 7. To esteem it as some 
advantage, that the duties of religion are difficult, and 
that many difficulties are sometimes to be gone through, 
in the way of duty. Religion is the sweeter, and what is 
gained by labour is abundantly more precious, as a woman 
loves her child the more for having brought it forth with 
travail; and even to Christ Jesus himself his mediatorial 
glory, his victory and triumph, the kingdom which he 
hath obtained, how much more glorious is it, how much 
more excellent and precious, for his having wrought it 
out by such agonies. 

Friday afternoon, Aug. 9. With respect to the impor- 
tant business which I have now on hand,^ Resolved, To 
do whatever I think to be duty, prudence and diligence 
in the matter, and to avoid ostentation; and if I succeed 
not, and how many disappointments soever I meet with, 
to be entirely easy; only to take occasion to acknowledge 
my unworthiness ; and if it should actually not succeed, 
and should not find acceptance, as I expected, yet not to 
afflict myself about it, according to the 57th Resolution. 
At night. — One thing that may be a good help towards 
thinking profitably in times of vacation, is, when I find 
a profitable thought that I can fix my mind on, to follow 
it as far as I possibly can to advantage. — I missed it, 
when a graduate at College, both in point of duty and 



1 Perhaps the preparation of a public exercise for the college 
commencement, when he received his Master's Degree. 



262 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

prudence, in going against a universal benevolence and 
good-nature. 

Saturday morning, Aug, 10. Transferred my deter- 
mination of July 23, to the 64tli Hesolution, and that of 
July 26, to the 65th. About sunset. — ^As a help against 
that inward shameful hypocrisy, to confess frankly to 
myself all that which I find in myself, either infirmity or 
sin; also to confess to God, and open the whole case to 
him, when it is what concerns religion, and humbly and 
earnestly implore of him the help that is needed; not in 
the least to endeavour to smother over what is in my 
heart, but to bring it all out to God and my conscience. 
By this means, I may arrive at a greater knowledge of my 
own heart. — When I find difficulty in finding a subject of 
religious meditation, in vacancies, to pitch at random on 
what alights to my thoughts, and to go from that to other 
things which that shall bring into my mind, and follow 
this progression as a clue, till I come to what I can med- 
itate on with profit and attention, and then to follow that, 
according to last Thursday's determination. 

Sahhath afternoon, Aug. 11. Resolved always to do 
that, which I shall wish I had done when I see others 
do it; as, for instance, sometimes I argue with myself, 
that such an act of good nature, kindness, forbearance 
or forgiveness, &c. is not my duty because it will have 
such and such consequences : yet when I see others do it, 
then it appears amiable to rae, and I wish I had done it, 
and see that none of these feared inconveniences fol- 
low. 

Monday morning, Aug. 12. The chief thing, that now 
makes me in any measure to question my good estate, is 
my not having experienced conversion in those particular 
steps, wherein the people of New England, and anciently 
the Dissenters of Old England, used to experience it. 
Wherefore, now resolved, never to leave searching, till I 
have satisfyingly found out the very bottom and founda- 
tion, the real reason, why they used to be converted in 
those steps. 

Tuesday morning, Aug. 13. Have sinned, in not being 
careful enough to please my parents. Afternoon. — I find 
it would be very much to my advantage, to be thoroughly 
acquainted with the Scriptures. When I am reading doc- 
trinal books, or books of controversy, I can proceed with 



BIAEY 263 

abundantly more confidence: can see on what footing and 
foundation I stand. 

Saturday noon, Aug, lY. Let there, in the general, be 
something of benevolence in all that I speak. 

Tuesday night, Aug, 20. Not careful enough in watch- 
ing opportunities of bringing in christian discourse with 
a good grace. Do not exercise myself half enough in this 
holy art; neither have I courage enough to carry it on 
with a good grace. Vid. Sept. 2. 

Saturday Morning, Aug. 24. Have not practiced quite 
right about revenge; though I have not done any thing 
directly out of revenge, yet, I have perhaps, omitted some 
things, that I should otherwise have done ; or have altered 
the circumstances and manner of my actions, hoping for 
a secret sort of revenge thereby. I have felt a little sort 
of satisfaction, when I thought that such an evil would 
happen to them by my actions, as would make them repent 
what they have done. To be satisfied for their repenting, 
when they repent from a sense of their error, is right. But 
a satisfaction in their repentance, because of the evil that 
is brought upon them, is Revenge. This is in some meas- 
ure, a taking the matter out of God's hands when he was 
about to manage it, who is better able to plead it for me. 
Well, therefore, may he leave me to boggle at it. — Near 
sunset. I yet find a want of dependence on God, to look 
unto him for success, and to have my eyes unto him for 
his gracious disposal of the matter: for want of a sense 
of God's particular influence, in ordering and directing all 
affairs and businesses, of whatever nature, however nat- 
urally, or fortuitously, they may seem to succeed; and for 
want of a sense of those great advantages, that would 
follow therefrom: not considering that God will grant 
success, or make the contrary more to my advantage; or 
will make the advantage accruing from the unsuccessful- 
riess, more sensible and apparent; or will make it of less 
present and outward disadvantage; or will some way, so 
order the circumstances, as to make the unsuccessfulness 
more easy to bear; or several, or all of these. This want 
of dependence, is likewise for want of the things men- 
tioned, July 29. — Remember to examine all Narrations, I 
can call to mind; whether they are exactly according to 
verity. 

Wednesday night, Aug. 28. — When I want books to 



264 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

read; yea, when I have not very good books, not to spend 
time in reading them, but in reading the scriptures, in 
perusing Resolutions, Reflexions, &c., in writing on Types 
of the Scripture, and other things, in studying the Lan- 
guages, and in spending more time in private duties. To 
do this, when there is a prospect of wanting time for the 
purpose. Remember as soon as I can, to get a piece of 
slate, or something, whereon I can make short memoran- 
dums while travelling. 

Thursday, Aug. 29. Two great Qucerenda with me now 
are: How shall I make advantage of all the time I spend 
in journeys? and how shall I make a glorious improve- 
ment of afflictions ? 

Saturday -night, Aug, 31. The objection, which my 
corruptions make against doing whatever my hands find 
to do with my might, is, that it is a constant mortifica- 
tion. Let this objection by no means ever prevail. 

Sahhath Morning, Sept, 1, When I am violently beset 
with worldly thoughts, for a relief, to think of Death, and 
the doleful circumstances of it. 

Monday Afternoon, Sept. 2. To help me to enter with 
a good grace, into religious conversation; when I am con- 
versing on morality, to turn it over by application, exem- 
plification or otherwise, to Christianity. Yid. Aug. 28 
and Jan, 15. — At night. There is much folly, when I am 
quite sure I am in the right, and others are positive in 
contradicting me, in entering into a vehement, or long 
debate upon it. 

Saturday, Sept. 7, Concluded no more to suffer myself 
to be interrupted, or diverted from important business, 
by those things, from which I expect, though some, yet but 
little profit. 

Sahhath Morning, Sept. 8. I have been much to blame, 
for expressing so much impatience for delays in journeys, 
and the like. 

Sahhath Evening, Sept. 22. To praise God, by singing 
Psalms in prose, and by singing forth the meditations of 
my heart in prose. 

Monday, Sept. 23. I observe that old men seldom have 
any advantage of new discoveries, because they are beside 
the way of thinking, to which they have been so long used. 
Resolved, if ever I live to years, that I will be impartial 
to hear the reasons of all pretended discoveries, and re- 



1 



DIAKY 265 

ceive them if rational, how long soever I have been used 
to another way of thinking. My time is so short, that I 
have not time to perfect myself in all studies : Wherefore 
resolved, to omit and put off, all but the most important 
and needful studies. 

Thursday forenoon, Oct, 4, 1723. Have this day fixed 
and established it, that Christ Jesus has promised me 
faithfully, that, if I will do what is my duty, and accord- 
ing to the best of my prudence in the matter, that my 
condition in this world, shall be better for me than any 
other condition whatever, and more to my welfare, to all 
eternity. And, therefore, whatever my condition shall be, 
I will esteem it to be such; and if I find need of faith in 
the matter, that I will confess it as impiety before God. 
Yid. Resolution 57, and June 9. 

Sahhath night, Oct, 7. Have lately erred, in not allow- 
ing time enough for conversation. 

Friday night, Oct. 12. I see there are some things quite 
contrary to the soundness and perfection of Christianity, 
in which almost all good men do allow themselves, and 
where innate corruption has an unrestrained secret vent, 
which they never take notice of, or think to be no hurt, 
or cloke under the name of virtue; which things exceed- 
ingly darken the brightness, and hide the loveliness, of 
Christianity. We can understand his errors? O that I 
might be kept from secret faults ! 

Sahhath morning, Oct, 14. Narrowly to observe after 
what manner I act, when I am in a hurry, and to act as 
much so, at other times, as I can, without prejudice to 
the business. 

Monday morning, Oct, 15. I seem to be afraid, after 
errors and decays, to give myself the full exercise of spir- 
itual meditation: — Not to give way to such fears. 
' Thursday, Oct, 18. To follow the example of Mr. B. 
who, though he meets with great difficulties, yet under- 
takes them with a smiling countenance, as though he 
thought them but little; and speaks of them, as if they 
were very small. 

Friday night, Nov, 1. When I am unfit for other busi- 
ness, to perfect myself in writing characters,'^ 

Friday afternoon, Nov, 22. For the time to come, 
when I am in a lifeless frame in secret prayer, to force 

^ He probably refers to short-haDd characters. 



266 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

myself to expatiate, as if I were praying before others 
more than I used to do. 

Tuesday forenoon, Nov. 26. It is a most evil and per- 
nicious practice, in meditations on afflictions, to sit rumi- 
nating on the aggravations of the affliction, and reckoning 
up the evil, dark circumstances thereof, and dwelling 
long on the dark side : it doubles and trebles the affliction. 
And so, when speaking of them to others, to make them 
as bad as we can, and use our eloquence to set forth our 
own troubles, is to be all the while making new trouble, 
and feeding and pampering the old ; whereas, the contrary 
practice, would starve our affliction. If we dwelt on the 
bright side of things in our thoughts, and extenuated 
them all that we possibly could, when speaking of them, 
we should think little of them ourselves, and the affliction 
would, really, in a great measure, vanish away. 

Friday night, Nov, 29. As a help to attention in social 
prayer, to take special care to make a particular remark, 
at the beginning of every petition, confession, &c. 

Monday morning, Dec. 9. To observe, whether I ex- 
press any kind of fretting emotion, for the next three 
weeks. 

Thursday night, Dec. 12. If, at any time, I am forced 
to tell others wherein I think they are somewhat to blame ; 
in order to avoid the important evil that would otherwise 
ensue, not to tell it to them so, that there shall be a prob- 
ability of their taking it as the effect of little, fretting, 
angry emotions of mind. — Vid. Aug. 28. When I do 
want, or am likely to want, good books, to spend time in 
studying Mathematics, and in reviewing other kinds of 
old learning; to spend more time in visiting friends, in 
the more private duties of a pastor, in taking care of 
worldly business, in going abroad and other things that I 
may contrive. 

Friday morning, Dec. 27. At the end of every month, 
to examine my behaviour, strictly, by some chapter in the 
New Testament, more especially made up of rules of life. 
— At the end of the year, to examine my behaviour by the 
rules of the New Testament in general, reading many 
chapters. It would also be convenient, some time at the 
end of the year, to read, for this purpose, in the book of 
Proverbs. 

Tuesday night, Dec, 31. Concluded never to suffer, nor 



DIAEY 267 

express, any angry emotions of mind, more or less, except 
the honour of God calls for it in zeal for him, or to pre- 
serve myself from being trampled on. 

1724:. Wednesday, Jan. 1. Not to spend too much 
time in thinking, even of important and necessary worldly 
business, and to allow every thing its proportion of 
thought, according to its urgency and importance. 

Thursday night, Jan. 2. These things established — 
That time gained in things of lesser importance, is as 
much gained in things of greater; that a minute, gained 
in times of confusion, conversation, or in a journey, is as 
good as a minute gained in my study, at my most retired 
times; and so in general that a minute gained at one 
time, is as good as at another. 

Friday night, Jan. 3. The time and pains laid out in 
seeking the world, is to be proportioned to the necessity, 
usefulness, and importance of it, with respect to another 
world, together with the uncertainty of succeeding, the 
uncertainty of living, and of retaining; provided, that 
nothing that our duty enjoins, or that is amiable, be omit- 
ted, and nothing sinful or unbecoming be done for the 
sake of it. 

Friday, Jan. 10. [After having written to a consider- 
able extent, in short-hand, which he used, when he wished 
what he wrote to be effectually concealed from every one 
but himself, he adds the following.] Remember to act 
according to Prov. xii. 23, A prudent man concealeth 
Jcnowledge. 

Monday, Jan. 20. I have been very much to blame, in 
that I have not been as full, and plain and downright, in 
my standing up for virtue and religion, when I have had 
fair occasion, before those who seemed to take no delight 
in such things. If such conversation would not be agree- 
able to them, I have in some degree minced the matter, 
that I might not displease, and might not speak right 
against the grain, more than I should have loved to have 
done with others, to whom it would be agreeable to speak 
directly for religion. I ought to be exceedingly bold with 
such persons, not talking in a melancholy strain, but in 
one confident and fearless, assured of the truth and excel- 
lence of the cause. 

Monday, Feb. 3. Let every thing have the value now 
which it will have on a sick bed: and frequently, in my 



268 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

pursuits of whatever kind, let this question come into my 
mind, ^^How much shall I value this, on my death-bed ?" 

Wednesday, Feb, 5. I have not, in times past, in my 
prayers, enough insisted on the glorifying of God in the 
world, on the advancement of the kingdom of Christ, the 
prosperity of the Church and the good of man. Deter- 
mined, that this objection is without weight, viz. That it 
is not likely that God will make great alterations in the 
whole world, and overturnings in kingdoms and nations, 
only for the prayers of one obscure person, seeing such 
things used to be done in answer to the united prayers of 
the whole church; and that if my prayers should have 
some influence, it would be but imperceptible and small. 

Thursday, Feb, 6. More convinced than ever, of the 
usefulness of free, religious conversation. I find by con- 
versing on Natural Philosophy, that I gain knowledge 
abundantly faster, and see the reasons of things much 
more clearly than in private study: wherefore, earnestly 
to seek, at all times, for religious conversation ; for those, 
with whom I can, at all times, with profit and delight, and 
with freedom, so converse. 

Friday, Feh, 7. Resolved, If God will assist me to it, 
that I will not care about things, when, upon any account, 
I have prospect of ill-success or adversity; and that I will 
not think about it, any further than just to do what pru- 
dence directs to for prevention, according to Phil. iv. 6, 
Be careful for nothing; to 1 Pet. v. Y, Cast all your care 
upon God, for he careth for you; and again. Take no 
thought for the morrow; and again, Take no thought, 
saying. What shall I eat, and what shall I drink, and 
wherewithal shall I be clothed: seek ye first the kingdom 
of God and all these things shall be added unto you. 

Saturday night, Feb. 15. I find that when eating, I 
cannot be convinced in the time of it, that if I should eat 
more, I should exceed the bounds of strict temperance, 
though I have had the experience of two years of the like; 
and yet, as soon as I have done, in three minutes I am 
convinced of it. But yet, when I eat again, and remem- 
ber it, still, while eating, I am fully convinced that I 
have not eaten what is but for nature, nor can I be con- 
vinced that my appetite and feeling is as it was before. 
It seems to me that I shall be somewhat faint if I leave 
off then; but when I have finished, I am convinced again. 



DIAEY 269 

and so it is from time to time. — I have observed that more 
really seems to be truth, when it makes for my interest, 
or is, in other respects, according to my inclination, than 
it seems, if it be otherwise; and it seems to me, that the 
words in which I express it are more than the thing will 
properly bear. But if the thing be against my interest, 
the words of different import seem as much as the thing 
will properly bear. — Though there is some little seeming, 
indecorum, as if it looked like affectation, in religious 
conversation, as there is also in acts of kindness ; yet this 
is to be broke through. 

Tuesday, Feb, 18. Resolved, To act with sweetness and 
benevolence, and according to the 47th Resolution, in all 
bodily dispositions, — sick or well, at ease or in pain, sleepy 
or watchful, and not to suffer discomposure of body to 
discompose my mind. 

Saturday, Feh. 22, I observe that there are some evil 
habits, which do increase and grow stronger, even in some 
good people, as they grow older; habits that much obscure 
the beauty of Christianity : some things which are accord- 
ing to their natural tempers, which, in some measure, pre- 
vails when they are yon ng in Christ, and the evil dispo- 
sition, having an unobserved control, the habit at last 
grows very strong, and commonly regulates the practice un- 
til death. By this means, old christians are very common- 
ly, in some respects, more unreasonable than those who are 
young. I am afraid of contracting such habits, particular- 
ly of grudging to give, and to do, and of procrastinating. 

Sabbath, Feb. 23. I must be contented, where I have 
any thing strange or remarkable to tell, not to make it 
appear so remarkable as it is indeed ; lest through the fear 
of this, and the desire of making a thing appear very re- 
markable, I should exceed the bounds of simple verity. 
When I am at a feast, or a meal, that very well pleases 
my appetite, I must not merely take care to leave off with 
as much of an appetite as at ordinary meals; for when 
there is a great variety of dishes, I may do that, after I 
have eaten twice as much as at other meals, is sufficient. 
If I act according to my resolution, I shall desire riches 
no otherwise, than as they are helpful to religion. But 
this I determine, as what is really evident from many 
parts of Scripture, that to fallen man, they have a greater 
tendency to hurt religion. 



270 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

Monday, March 16. To practice this sort of self-denial, 
when at sometimes on fair days, I find myself more par- 
ticularly disposed to regard the glories of the world, than 
to betake myself to the study of serious religion. 

Saturday, May 23. How it comes about I know not, 
but I have remarked it hitherto, that at those times, when 
I have read the Scriptures most, I have evermore been 
most lively and in the best frame. 



AT YALE COLLEGE 

Saturday night, June 6. This week has been a very 
remarkable week with me, with respect to despondencies, 
fears, perplexities, multitudes of cares, and distraction of 
mind : it being the week I came hither to New-Haven, in 
order to entrance upon the office of Tutor of the College. 
I have now, abundant reason to be convinced, of the trou- 
blesomeness and vexation of the world, and that it never 
will be another kind of world. 

Tuesday, July 7. When I am giving the relation of a 
thing, remember to abstain from altering either in the 
matter or manner of speaking, so much, as that, if every 
one, afterwards, should alter as much, it would at last 
come to be properly false. 

Tuesday, Sept, 2. By a sparingness in diet, and eating 
as much as may be, what is light and easy of digestion, I 
shall doubtless be able to think more clearly, and shall gain 
time; 1. By lengthening out my life; 2. Shall need less 
time for digestion, after meals; 3. Shall be able to study 
more closely, without injury to my health; 4. Shall need 
less time for sleep; 5. Shall m.ore seldom be troubled with 
the head-ache. 

Saturday night. Sept, 12. Crosses of the nature of that, 
which I met with this week, thrust me quite below all 
comforts in religion. They appear no more than vanity 
and stubble, especially when I meet with them so unpre- 
pared for them. I shall not be fit to encounter them, 
except I have a far stronger, and more permanent faith, 
hope and love. 

Wednesday, Sept, 30. It has been a prevailing thought 
with me, to which I have given place in practice, that it 
is best, sometimes, to eat or drink, when it will do me no 



DIAEY 271 

good, because the hurt, that it will do me, will not be 
equal, to the trouble of denying myself. But I have de- 
termined, to suffer that thought to prevail no longer. The 
hurries of commencement, and diversion of the vacancy, 
has been the occasion of my sinking so exceedingly, as in 
the three last weeks. 

Monday, Oct, 5. I believe it is a good way, when prone 
to unprofitable thoughts, fo deny myself and break off my 
tTioughts, by keeping diligently to my study, that they 
may not have time to operate to work me to such a listless 
frame. I am apt to think it a good way, when I am in- 
disposed to reading and study, to read of my own re- 
marks, the fruit of my study in divinity, &c., to set me 
agoing again. 

Friday, Nov. 6. Felt sensibly, somewhat of that trust 
and affiance, in Christ, and with delight committing of 
my s/)ul to him, of which our divines used to speak, and 
about which, I have been somewhat in doubt. 

Tuesday, Nov. 10. To mark all that I say in conversa- 
tion, merely to beget in others, a good opinion of myself, 
and examine it. 

Sahhath, Nov, 15. Determined, when I am indisposed 
to prayer, always to premeditate what to pray for; and 
that it is better, that the prayer should be of almost any 
shortness, than that my mind should be almost continually 
off from what I say. 

Sahhath, Nov. 22. Considering that by-standers always 
copy some faults, which we do not see, ourselves, or of 
which, at least, we are not so fully sensible ; and that there 
are many secret workings of corruption, which escape our 
sight, and of which, others only are sensible: Resolved, 
therefore, that I will, if I can by any convenient means, 
learn what faults others find in me, or what things they 
See in me, that appear any way blame-worthy, unlovely, or 
unbecoming. 

Friday, Feh. 12, 1725. The very thing I now want, to 
give me a clearer and more immediate view of the perfec- 
tions and glory of God, is as clear a knowledge of the 
manner of God's exerting himself, with respect to Spirits 
and Mind, as I have, of his operations concerning Matter 
and Bodies. 

Tuesday, Feh. 16. A virtue, which I need in a higher 
degree, to give a beauty and lustre to my behaviour, is 



272 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

gentleness. If I had more of an air of gentleness, I 
should be much mended. 

Friday, May 21. If ever I am inclined to turn to the 
opinion of any other Sect: Resolved, Beside the most de- 
liberate consideration, earnest prayer, &c., privately to de- 
sire all the help that can possibly be afforded me, from 
some of the most judicious men in the country, together 
with the prayers of wise and holy men, however strongly 
persuaded I may seem to be, that I am in the right. 

Saturday, May 22. When I reprove for faults, where- 
by I am in any way injured, to defer, till the thing is 
quite over and done with; for that is the way, both to 
reprove aright, and without the least mixture of spirit, or 
passion, and to have reproofs effectual, and not suspected. 

Friday, May 28. It seems to me, that whether I am 
now converted or not, I am so settled in the state I am in, 
that I shall go on in it all my life. But, however settled 
I may be, yet I will continue to pray to God, not to suffer 
me to be deceived about it, nor to sleep in an unsafe con- 
dition; and ever and anon, will call all into question and 
try myself, using for helps, some of our old divines, that 
God may have opportunities to answer my prayers, and 
the Spirit of God to show me my error, if I am in one. 

Saturday night, June 6. I am sometimes in a frame so 
listless, that there is no other way of profitably improving 
time, but conversation, visiting, or recreation, or some 
bodily exercise. However it may be best in the first place, 
before resorting to either of these, to try the whole circle 
of my mental employments. 

Nov. 16. When confined at Mr. Stiles'. I think it 
would be of special advantage to me, with respect to my 
truer interest, as near as I can in my studies, to observe 
this rule. To let half a day's, or at most, a day's study in 
other things, be succeeded, by half a day's or a day's study 
in Divinity. 

One thing wherein I have erred, as I would be com- 
plete in all social duties, is, in neglecting to write letters 
to friends. And I would be forewarned of the danger of 
neglecting to visit my friends and relations, when we 
are parted. 

When one suppresses thoughts that tend to divert the 
run of the mind's operations from Religion, whether they 
are melancholy, or anxious, or passionate, or any others; 



DIAEY • 273 

there is this good effect of it, that it keeps the mind in its 
freedom. Those thoughts are stopped in the beginning, 
that would have set the mind agoing in that stream. 

There are a great many exercises, that for the present, 
seem not to help, but rather impede. Religious meditation 
and affections, the fruit of which is reaped afterwards, 
and is of far greater worth than what is lost; for thereby 
the mind is only for the present diverted; but what is 
attained is, upon occasion, of use for the whole life-time. 

Sept, 26, 1726. ^Tis just about three years, that I have 
been for the most part in a low, sunk estate and condi- 
tion, miserably senseless to what I used to be, about spir- 
itual things. 'Twas three years ago, the week before com- 
mencement; just about the same time this year, I began 
to be somewhat as I used to be. 

Jan. 1728. I think Christ has recommended rising early 
in the morning, by his rising from the grave very early. 

Jan. 22, 1734. I judge that it is best, when I am in a 
good frame for divine contemplation, or engaged in read- 
ing the Scriptures, or any study of divine subjects, that 
ordinarily, I will not be interrupted by going to dinner, 
but will forego my dinner, rather than be broke off. 

April 4, 1735. When at any time, I have a sense of any 
divine thing, then to turn it in my thoughts, to a practical 
improvement. As for instance, when I am in my mind, on 
some argument for the Truth of Religion, the Reality of 
a Future State, and the like, then to think with myself, 
how safely I may venture to sell all, for a future good. So 
when, at any time, I have a more than ordinary sense of 
the Glory of the Saints, in another world; to think how 
well it is worth my while, to deny myself, and to sell all 
that I have for this Glory, &c. 

May 18. My mind at present is, never to suffer my 
thoughts and meditations, at all to ruminate. 

June 11. To set apart days of meditation on particu- 
lar subjects ; as sometimes, to set apart a day for the con- 
sideration of the Greatness of my Sins ; at another, to con- 
sider the Dreadfulness and Certainty, of the Future 
Misery of Ungodly men ; at another, the Truth and Cer- 
tainty of Religion; and so, of the Great Future Things 
promised and threatened in the Scriptures. 



274 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 



SAKAH PIEKEEPONT 

They say there is a young lady in [ISTew Haven] who 
is beloved of that Great Being, who made and rules the 
world, and that there are certain seasons in which this 
Great Being, in some way or other invisible, comes to her 
and fills her mind with exceeding sweet delight, and that 
she hardly cares for anything, except to meditate on him 
— that she expects after a while to be received up where 
he is, to be raised up out of the world and caught up into 
heaven; being assured that he loves her too well to let 
her remain at a distance from him alwayCo There she is 
to dwell with him, and to be ravished with his love and 
delight forever. Therefore, if you present all the world 
before her, with the richest of its treasures, she disregards 
it and cares not for it, and is unmindful of any pain or 
affliction. She has a strange sweetness in her mind, and 
singular purity in her affections; is most just and con- 
scientious in all her conduct; and you could not persuade 
her to do any thing wrong or sinful, if you would give 
her all the world, lest she should offend this Great Being. 
She is of a wonderful sweetness, calmness and universal 
benevolence of mind; especially after this Great God has 
manifested himself to her mind. She will sometimes go 
about from place to place, singing sweetly; and seems to 
be always full of joy and pleasure ; and no one knows for 
what. She loves to be alone, walking in the fields and 
groves, and seems to have some one invisible always con- 
versing with her. 

A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE OF THE SUEPEISING 
WOEK OF GOD IN THE CONYEESION OF 
MANY HUNDEED SOULS IN NOETHAMP- 
TON, AND THE NEIGHBOEING TOWNS AND 
VILLAGES. ... IN A LETTEE TO THE EEV. 
DE. BENJAMIN COLMAN OF BOSTON. 

Reverend and Honored Sir, 

Having seen your letter to my honored uncle Williams 
of Hatfield, of July 20, wherein you inform him of the 
notice that has been taken of the late wonderful work of 
God in this, and some other towns in this county, by the 



A FAITHFUL NARRATIVE 275 

Rev. Dr. Watts and Dr. Guyse of London, and the Con- 
gregation to which the last of these preached on a month- 
ly day of solemn prayer; as also of your desire to be more 
perfectly acquainted with it, by some of us on the s^ot 
And having been since informed by my uncle WiHiams" 
hat^ou desire me to undertake it, I would now do ft 
m as just and faithful a manner as in me lies 

Ihe people of the county in general, I suppose are as 
sober, and orderly, and good sort of people, as ^nany part 

tWrLfTvT^' %^^ ^ believe they have'been pres'LS 
the freest by far, of any part of the country from error 
and variety of sects and opinions. Our being so far 
withm the land, at a distance from sea-ports Ld in I 
wThTve no^t'r^"*'^' has doubtless been one Reason why 
othillrU tr ^l.'^r^ corrupted with vice, as most 
otJier parts. But without question, the religion and eood 

Snder Go^y^"*'^' '"\*^^^^ P^^^*^ in doctrine, Tas, 

S em^nit r>1ptf '""f """'^ "^^'^f, *° *^^ S^^^* abilities 
f^tV.^. 4f L ^A %' ""^ ™^ venerable and honored grand- 

S tSS'ZS-r »«•'"' «" 'te .L l.tnS 
. We being much separated from other parts of the prov- 
hem W r"^ comparatively but littb intercourse with 
them, have from the beginning, till now, always managed 
our ecclesiastical affairs within ourselves : it Ts The wav 
m which the country, from its infancy, has gone on by 
the practical agreement of all, and the way in which our 
peace and good order has hitherto been maintained 

Ihe town of Northampton is of about eighty-two years 
standing, and has now about two hundred famniel whfch 
rpostly dwell more compactly together thanTny town of 

ZLkI ^^''T '^ ^^'''^ P^^*« of *e country; which 
probably has been an occasion that both our cor^uSns 
and reformations have been, from time to time the mZ 
swiftly propagated, from one to another Th;ou4 the 
town. Take the town in general, and so far as I can 

against it, on accoiint of tiPirdiff/rfnt ',""''■ "'''r''^ *•'»* were 
principles/and about some sti'n«thir^,^"''^ "'"'"* '"s 

ordination. ''^ *'^'*' ^'-■^'-' t"''<-'ii to procure liis 



276 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

judge, they are as rational and understanding a people 
as most I have been acquainted with : Many of them have 
been noted for religion, and particularly, have been 
remarkable for their distinct knowledge in things that 
relate to heart religion, and Christian experience, and 
their great regards thereto. 

I am the third minister that has been settled in the 
town: The Reverend Mr. Eleazar Mather, who was the 
first, was ordained in July 1669. He was one whose heart 
was much in his work, abundant in labors for the good 
of precious souls; he had the high esteem and great love 
of his people, and was blessed with no small success. The 
Rev. Mr. Stoddard who succeeded him, came first to the 
town the November after his death, but was not ordained 
till September 11, 1672, and died February 11, 1728-9. So 
that he continued in the work of the ministry here from 
his first coming to town, near sixty years. And as he was 
eminent and renowned for his gifts and grace, so he was 
blessed, from the beginning, with extraordinary success 
in his ministry, in the conversion of many souls. He 
had five harvests as he called them: The first was about 
fifty-seven years ago; the second about fifty-three years; 
the third about forty; the fourth about twenty-four; the 
fifth and last about eighteen years ago. Some of these 
times were much more remarkable than others, and the 
ingathering of souls more plentiful. Those that were 
about fifty-three, and forty, and twenty-four years ago, 
were much greater than either the first or the last ; but in 
each of them, I have heard my grandfather say, the 
greater part of the young people in the town seemed to be 
mainly concerned for their eternal salvation. 

After the last of these, came a far more degenerate 
time, (at least among young people) I suppose, than ever 
before. Mr. Stoddard, indeed, had the comfort before he 
died, of seeing a time when there was no small appearance 
of a divine work amongst some, and a considerable in- 
gathering of souls, even after I was settled with him in 
the ministry, which was about two years before his death; 
and I have reason to bless God for the great advantage I 
had by it. In these two years, there were near twenty 
that Mr. Stoddard hoped to be savingly converted; but 
there was nothing of any general awakening. The greater 
part seemed to be at that time very insensible of the 



I 



A FAITHFUL NAEKATIVE 277 

things of religion, and engaged in other cares and pur- 
suits. Just after my grandfather's death, it seemed to 
be a time of extraordinary dullness in religion: Licen- 
tiousness for some years greatly prevailed among the 
youth of the town; they were many of them very much 
addicted to night walking, and frequenting the tavern, 
and lewd practices, wherein some by their example exceed- 
ingly corrupted others. It was their manner very 
frequently to get together in conventions of both sexes, 
for mirth and jollity, which they called frolicks; and they 
would often spend the greater part of the night in them, 
without any regard to order in the families they belonged 
tcf: And indeed family government did too much fail in 
the town. It had become very customary with many of 
our young people to be indecent in their carriage at meet- 
ing, which doubtless would not have prevailed to such a 
degree, had it not been that my grandfather, through his 
great age, (though he retained his powers surprisingly to 
the last) was not so able to observe them. There had 
also long prevailed in the town, a spirit of contention 
between two parties, into which they had for many years 
been divided, by which was maintained a jealousy one 
of the other, and they were prepared to oppose one another 
in all public affairs. 

But in two or three years after Mr. Stoddard's death, 
there began to be a sensible amendment of these evils; 
the young people shewed more of a disposition to hearken 
to counsel, and by degrees left off their frolicking, and 
grew observably more decent in their attendance on the 
public worship, and there were more that manifested a 
religious concern than there used to be. 

At the latter end of the year 1733, there appeared a 
very unusual flexibleness, and yielding to advice, in our 
young people. It had been too long their manner to make 
the evening after the sabbath,^ and after our public lec- 
ture, to be especially the times of their mirth, and com- 
pany keeping. But a sermon was now preached on the 
sabbath before the lecture, to shew the evil tendency of 
the practice, and to persuade them to reform it; and it 
was urged on heads of families, that it should be a thing 

1 It must be noted, that it has never been our manner to observe 
the evening that follows the sabbath, but that which precedes It, 
as part of holy time. 



278 JO^STATHAN EDWAKDS 

agreed upon among them, to govern their families, and 
keep their children at home, at these times; — and withal 
it was more privately moved, that they should meet to- 
gether the next day, in their several neighborhoods, to 
know each other's minds; which was accordingly done, 
and the motion complied with throughout the town. But 
parents found little or no occasion for the exercise of 
government in the case; the young people declared them- 
selves convinced by what they had heard from the pulpit, 
and were willing of themselves to comply with the counsel 
that had been given. And it was immediately, and, I sup- 
pose, almost universally complied with; and there was a 
thorough reformation of these disorders thenceforward, 
which has continued ever since. 

Presently after this, there began to appear a remark- 
able religious concern at a little village belonging to the 
congregation, called Pascommuck, where a few families 
were settled, at about three miles distance from the main 
body of the town. At this place a number of persons 
seemed to be savingly wrought upon. In the April fol- 
lowing. Anno 1734, there happened a very sudden and 
awful death of a young man in the bloom of his youth; 
who being violently seized with a pleurisy, and taken 
immediately very delirious, died in about two days ; which 
(together with what was preached publicly on that 
occasion,) much affected many young people. This was 
followed with another death of a young married woman, 
who had been considerably exercised in mind, about the 
salvation of her soul, before she was ill, and was in great 
distress in the beginning of her illness, but seemed to 
have satisfying evidences of God's saving mercy to her, 
before her death; so that she died very full of comfort, 
in a most earnest and moving manner, warning and coun- 
selling others. This seemed much to contribute to the 
solemnizing of the spirits of many young persons; and 
there began evidently to appear more of a religious con- 
cern on people's minds. 

In the fall of the year, I proposed it to the young 
people, that they should agree among themselves to spend 
the evenings after lectures, in social religion, and to that 
end to divide themselves into several companies to meet 
in various parts of the town ; which was accordingly done, 
and those meetings have been since continued, and the 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE 279 

example imitated by elder people. This was followed with 
the death of an elderly person, which was attended with 
many unusual circumstances, by which many were much 
moved and affected. 

About this time began the great noise that was in this 
part of the country, about Arminianism, which seemed to 
appear with a very threatening aspect upon the interest 
of religion here. The friends of vital piety trembled for 
fear of the issue; but it seemed, contrary to their fear, 
strongly to be overruled for the promoting of religion. 
Many who looked on themselves as in a Christless con- 
dition, seemed to be awakened by it, with fear that God 
was about to withdraw from the land, and that we should 
be given up to heterodoxy, and . corrupt principles ; and 
that then their opportunity for obtaining salvation would 
be past; and many who were brought a little to doubt 
about the truth of the doctrines they had hitherto been 
taught, seemed to have a kind of a trembling fear with 
their doubts, lest they should be led into by-paths, to 
their eternal undoing: And they seemed with much con- 
cern and engagedness of mind to inquire what was indeed 
the way in which they must come to be accepted with 
God. There were then some things said publicly on that 
occasion, concerning justification by faith alone. 

Although great fault was found with meddling with 
the controversy in the pulpit, by such 'a person, at that 
time, and though it was ridiculed by many elsewhere, 
yet it proved a word spoken in season here, and was most 
evidently attended with a very remarkable blessing of 
heaven to the souls of the people in this town. They 
received thence a general satisfaction with respect to 
the main thing in question, which they had in trembling 
doubts and concern about; and their minds were engaged 
the more earnestly to seek, that they might come to be 
accepted of God, and saved in the way of the gospel, 
which had been made evident to them to be the true and 
only way. And then it was, in the latter part of Decem- 
ber, that the spirit of God began extraordinarily to set in, 
and wonderfully to work amongst us ; and there were, very 
suddenly, one after another, five or six persons who were, 
to all appearance, savingly converted, and some of them 
wrought upon in a very remarkable manner. 

Particularly, I was surprised with the relation of a 



280 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

young woman, who had been one of the greatest company 
keepers in the whole town. When she came to me, I had 
never heard that she had become in any wise, serious, but 
by the conversation I then had with her, it appeared to 
me that what she gave an account of, was a glorious work 
of God's infinite power and sovereign grace; and that God 
had given her a new heart, truly broken and sanctified. I 
could not then doubt of it, and have seen much in my 
acquaintance with her since to confirm it. 

Though the work was glorious, yet I was filled with 
concern about the effect it might have upon others. I 
was ready to conclude (though too rashly) that some 
would be hardened by it, in carelessness and loseness 
of life, and would take occasion from it to open their 
mouths, in reproaches of religion. But the event was 
the reverse, to a wonderful degree. God made it, I sup- 
pose, the greatest occasion of awakening to others, of any 
thing that ever came to pass in the town. I have had 
abundant opportunity to know the effect it had, by my 
private conversation with many. The news of it seemed 
to be almost like a flash of lightning upon the hearts of 
young people, all over the town, and upon many others. 
Those persons amongst us, who used to be farthest from 
seriousness, and that I most feared would make an ill 
improvement of it, seemed greatly to be awakened with 
it; many went to talk with her concerning what she had 
met with; and what appeared in her seemed to be to the 
satisfaction of all that did so. 

Presently upon this, a great and earnest concern about 
the great things of religion, and the eternal world, became 
universal in all parts of the town, and among persons of 
all degrees, and all ages ; the noise amongst the dry bones 
waxed louder and louder. All other talk but about 
spiritual and eternal things was soon thrown by; all the 
conversation in all companies, and upon all occasions, was 
upon these things only, unless so much as was necessary 
for people carrying on their ordinary secular business. 
Other discourse than of the things of religion, would 
scarcely be tolerated ■ in any company. The minds of 
people were wonderfully taken off from the world; it was 
treated amongst us as a thing of very little consequence. 
They seemed to follow their worldly business, more as a 
part of their duty, than from any disposition they had to 



A FAITHFUL NARKATIYE 281 

it; the temptation now seemed to lie on that hand, to 
neglect worldly affairs too much, and to spend too much 
time in the immediate exercise of religion; which thing 
was exceedingly misrepresented by reports that were 
spread in distant parts of the land, as though the people 
here had wholly thrown by all worldly business, and be- 
took themselves entirely to reading and praying, and such 
like religious exercises. 

But though the people did not ordinarily neglect their 
worldly business, yet there then was the reverse of what 
commonly is. Religion was with all sorts the great con- 
cern, and the world was a thing only by the by. The 
only thing in their view was to get the kingdom of heaven, 
and every one appeared pressing into it. The engagedness 
of their hearts in this great concern could not be hid ; it 
appeared in their very countenances. It then was a dread- 
ful thing amongst us to lie out of Christ, in danger every 
day of dropping into hell; and what persons' minds were 
intent upon was to escape for their lives, and to fly from 
the wrath to come. All would eagerly lay hold of oppor- 
tunities for their souls, and were wont very often to meet 
together in private houses for religious purposes; and 
Buch meetings, when appointed, were wont greatly to be 
thronged. 

There was scarcely a single person in the town, either 
old or young, that was left unconcerned about the great 
things of the eternal world. Those that were wont to 
be the vainest, and loosest, and those that had been most 
disposed to think and speak slightly of vital and experi- 
mental religion, were now generally subject to great 
awakenings. And the work of conversion was carried on 
in a most astonishing manner, and increased more and 
more; souls did, as it were, come by flocks to Jesus 
Christ. From day to day, for many months together, 
might be seen evident instances of sinners brought out 
of darkness into marvellous light, and delivered out of 
an horrible pit, and from the miry clay, and set upon a 
roch with a new song of praise to God in their mouths. 

This work of God, as it was carried on, and the number 
of true saints multiplied, soon made a glorious alteration 
in the town ; so that in the spring and summer following, 
Anno 1735, the town seemed to be full of the presence of 
God. It never was so full of love, nor so full of joy; and 



282 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

yet so full of distress as it was then. There were remark- 
able tokens of God's presence in almost every house. It 
was a time of joy in families on the account of salvation's 
being brought unto them; parents rejoicing over their 
children as new born, and husbands over their wives, and 
wives over their husbands. The doings of God were then 
seen in his sanctuary, God's day was a delight, and his 
tabernacles were amiable. Our public assemblies were 
then beautiful; the congregation was alive in God's serv- 
ice, every one earnestly intent on the public worship, 
every hearer eager to drink in the words of the minister 
as they came from his mouth; the assembly in general 
were, from time to time in tears, while the word was 
preached; some weeping with sorrow and distress, others 
with joy and love, others with pity and concern for the 
souls of their neighbors. 

Our public praises were then greatly enlivened. God 
was then served in our psalmody, in some measure, in 
the beauty of holiness. It has been observable, that there 
has been scarce any part of divine worship, wherein good 
men amongst us have had grace so drawn forth, and their 
hearts so lifted up in the ways of God, as in singing his 
praises. Our congregation excelled all that ever I knew 
in the external part of the duty before, the men generally 
carrying regularly and well, three parts of music, and 
the women a part by themselves: But now they were 
evidently wont to sing with unusual elevation of heart 
and voice, which made the duty pleasant indeed. 

In all companies, on other days, on whatever occasions 
persons met together, Christ was to be heard of, and seen 
in the midst of them. Our young people, when they met, 
were wont to spend the time in talking of the excellency 
and dying love of Jesus Christ, the gloriousness of the 
way of salvation, the wonderful, free, and sovereign grace 
of God, his glorious work in the conversion of a soul, 
the truth and certainty of the great things of God's 
word, the sweetness of the views of his perfections, &c. 
And even at weddings, which formerly were merely 
occasions of mirth and jollity, there was now no dis- 
course of any thing but the things of religion, and no 
appearance of any but spiritual mirth. 

Those amongst us that had been formerly converted, 
were greatly enlivened and renewed with fresh and extra- 



A FAITHFUL NAEKATIYE 283 

ordinary incomes of the spirit of God ; thongli some mucli 
more than others, according to the measure of the gift of 
Christ. Many that before had labored under difficulties 
about their own state, had now their doubts removed by 
more satisfying experience, and more clear discoveries of 
God's love. 

When this work of God first appeared, and was so extra- 
ordinarily carried on amongst us in the winter, others 
round about us seemed not to know what to make of it; 
and there were many that scoffed at, and ridiculed it; 
and some compared what we called conversion to certain 
distempers. But it was very observable of many, that 
occasionally came amongst us from abroad, with dis- 
regardful hearts, that what they saw here cured them of 
such a temper of mind. Strangers were generally sur- 
prised to find things so much beyond what they had heard, 
and were wont to tell others that the state of the town 
could not be conceived of by those that had not seen it. 
The notice that was taken of it by the people that came 
to town on occasion of the court that sat here in the 
beginning of March, was very observable. And those that 
came from the neighborhood to our public lectures, were 
for the most part remarkably affected. Many that came 
to town on one occasion or other, had their consciences 
smitten, and awakened, and went home with wounded 
hearts, and with those impressions that never wore off till 
they had hopefully a saving issue; and those that before 
had serious thoughts, had their awakenings and convic- 
tions greatly increased. And there were many instances 
of persons that came from abroad, on visits, or on busi- 
ness, that had not been long here before, to all appearance, 
they were savingly wrought upon, and partook of that 
shower of divine blessing that God rained down here, and 
went home rejoicing; till at length the same work began 
evidently to appear and prevail in several other towns in 
the county. 

In the month of March, the people in South Hadley 
began to be seized with deep concern about the things 
of religion; which very soon became universal; and the 
work of God has been very wonderful there; not much, 
if any thing, short of what it has been here, in proportion 
to the size of the place. About the same time it began 
to break forth in the west part of Suffield, (where it has 



.**" 



284 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

also been very great) and it soon spread into all parts of 
the town. It next appeared at Sunderland, and soon over- 
spread the town; and I believe was for a season, not less 
remarkable than it was here. About the same time it 
began to appear in a part of Deerfield, called Green River, 
and afterwards filled the town, and there has been a 
glorious work there. It began also to be manifest in the 
south part of Hatfield, in a place called the Hill; and 
after that the whole town, in the second week in April, 
seemed to be seized, as it were at once, with concern about 
the things of religion ; and the work of God has been great 
there. There has been also a very general awakening at 
West Springfield, and Long Meadow; and in Enfield there 
was, for a time, a pretty general concern amongst some 
that before had been very loose persons. About the same 
time that this appeared at Enfield, the Rev. Mr. Bull 
of Westfield, informed me that there had been a great 
alteration there, and that more had been done in one 
week there than in seven years before. — Something of 
this work likewise appeared in the first precinct in 
Springfield, principally in the north and south extremes 
of the parish. And in Hadley old town, there gradually 
appeared so much of a work of God on souls, as at another 
time would have been thought worthy of much notice. 
For a short time there was also a very great and general 
concern, of the like nature, at Northfield. And wherever 
this concern appeared, it seemed not to be in vain ; but in 
every place God brought saving blessings with him, and 
his word attended with his spirit (as we have all reason 
to think) returned not void. It might well be said at that 
time in all parts of the county, Who are these that fly as 
a cloudy and as doves to their windows? 

As what other towns heard of and found in this, was 
a great means of awakening them, so our hearing of 
such a swift, and extraordinary propagation, and extent 
of this work, did doubtless, for a time, serve to uphold 
the work amongst us. The continual news kept alive the 
talk of religion, and did greatly quicken and rejoice the 
hearts of God's people, and much awakened those that 
looked on themselves as still left behind, and made them 
the more earnest that they also might share in the great 
blessing tTiat others had obtained. 

This remarkable pouring out of the spirit of God, which 



A FAITHFUL l^AKKATIYE 285 

thus extended from one end to the other of this county, ^.i^'** * 
was not confined to it, but many places in Connecticut 
have partook in the same mercy. As for instance the first 
parish in Windsor, under the pastoral care of the Rev. 
Mr. Marsh, was thus blest about the same time, as we in 
Northampton, while we had no knowledge of each other's 
circumstances. There has been a very great ingathering 
of souls to Christ in that place, and something consider- 
able of the same work began afterwards in East Windsor, 
my honored father's parish, which has in times past, been 
a place favored with mercies of this nature, above any on 
this western side of 'New England, excepting Northamp- 
ton ; there having been four or ^ve seasons'^ of the pouring 
out of the spirit, to the general awakening of the people 
there, since my father's settlement amongst them. 

There was also the last spring and summer a wonderful 
work of God carried on at Coventry, under the ministry 
of the Kev. Mr. Meacham. I had opportunity to con- 
verse with some of the Coventry people, who gave me a 
very remarkable account of the surprising change that 
appeared in the most rude and vicious persons there. 
The like was also very great at the same time in a part 
of Lebanon, called the Crank, where the Rev. Mr. 
Wheelock, a young gentleman, is lately settled. And there 
has been much of the same at Durham, under the min- 
istry of the Rev. Mr. Chauncey; and to appearance, no 
small ingathering of souls there. And likewise amongst 
many of the young people in the first precinct in Strat- 
ford, under the ministry of the Rev. Mr. Gould, where 
the work was much promoted by the remarkable con- 
version of a young woman that had been a great company 
keeper, as it was here. 

Something of this work appeared in several other towns 
in those parts, as I was informed when I was there the 
last fall. And we have since been acquainted with some- 
thing very remarkable of this nature at another parish in 
Stratford, called Ripton, under the pastoral care of the 
Rev. Mr. Mills. And there was a considerable revival of 
religion last summer at New Haven old town, as I was 
once and again informed by the Rev. Mr. Noyes, the min- 
ister there, and by others; and by a letter which I very 
lately received from Mr. Noyes, and also by information 
we have had otherwise. This flourishing of religion still 



286 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

continues, and has lately mueli increased: Mr. Noyes 
writes, that many this summer have been added to the 
church, and particularly mentions several young persons 
that belong to the principal families of that town. 

There has been a degree of the same work at a part 
of Guilford; and very considerable at Mansfield, under 
the ministry of the Rev. Mr. Eleazar Williams; and an 
unusual religious concern at Tolland; and something of 
it at Hebron, and Bolton. There was also no small 
effusion of the spirit of God in the north parish in Pres- 
ton in the eastern part of Connecticut, which I was in- 
formed of, and saw something of it when I was the last 
autumn at the house, and in the congregation of the Rev. 
Mr. Lord, the minister there, who, with the Rev. Mr. 
Owen of Groton, came up hither in May, the last year, 
on purpose to see the work of God here; and having 
heard various and contradictory accounts of it, were care- 
ful when they were here to inform and satisfy themselves ; 
and to that end particularly conversed with many of our 
people, which they declared to be entirely to their satis- 
faction; and that the one half had not been told them, 
nor could be told them. Mr. Lord told me, that when he 
got home, he informed his congregation of what he had 
seen, and that they were greatly affected with it, and that 
it proved the beginning of the same work amongst them, 
which prevailed till there was a general awakening, and 
many instances of persons, who seemed to be remarkably 
converted. I also have lately heard that there has been 
something of the same work at Woodbury. 

But this shower of Divine blessing has been yet more 
extensive. There was no small degree of it in some parts 
of the Jerseys, as I was informed when I was at New 
York, (in a long journey I took at that time of the year 
for my health) by some people of the Jerseys, whom I 
saw, especially the Rev. Mr. William Tennent, a minister, 
who seemed to have such things much at heart, told me 
of a very great awakening of many in a place called the 
Mountains, under the ministry of one Mr. Cross; and of 
a very considerable revival of religion in another place 
under the ministry of his brother, the Rev. Mr. Gilbert 
Tennent; and also at another place, under the ministry 
of a very pious young gentleman, a Dutch minister, whose 
name as I remember, was Ereelinghousen. 



A FAITHFUL NAKEATIYE 287 

This seems to have been a very extraordinary dispen- 
sation of Providence. God has, in many respects, gone 
out of, and much beyond his usual and ordinary way. 
The work in this town, and some others about us, has 
been extraordinary on account of the universality of it, 
affecting all sorts, sober and vicious, high and low, rich 
and poor, wise and unwise; it reached the most consid- 
erable families and persons to all appearance, as much 
as others. In former stirrings of this nature, the bulk 
of the young people have been greatly affected; but old 
men and little children have been so now. Many of the 
last have, of their own accord, formed themselves into 
religious societies, in different parts of the town. A loose, 
careless person, could scarcely find a companion in the 
whole neighborhood ; and if there was any one that seemed 
to remain senseless or unconcerned, it would be spoken of 
as a strange thing. 

This dispensation has also appeared extraordinary in 
the numbers of those on whom we have reason to hope 
it has had a saving effect. We have about six hundred 
and twenty communicants which include almost all our 
adult persons. The church was very large before; but 
persons never thronged into it as they did in the late 
extraordinary time. Our sacraments were eight weeks 
asunder, and I received into our communion about an 
hundred before one sacrament, and four-score of them 
at one time, whose appearance, when they presented them- 
selves together to make an open explicit profession of 
Christianity, was very affecting to the congregation. I 
took in near sixty before the next sacrament day; and I 
had very sufficient evidence of the conversion of their 
souls, through divine grace, though it is not the custom 
here, as it is in many other churches in this country, to 
make a credible relation of their inward experiences the 
ground of admission to the Lord's Supper. 

I am far from pretending to be able to determine how 
many have lately been the subjects of such mercy; but 
if I may be allowed to dechire any thing that appears to 
me probable in a thing of this nature, I hope that more 
than three hundred souls were savingly brought home to 
Christ in this town, in the space of half a year, (how 
many more I don't guess) and about the same number 
of males as females; which, by what I have heard Mr. 



288 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

Stoddard say, was far from wliat has been usual in years 
past, for he observed that in his time, many more women 
were converted than men. Those of our young people 
that are, on other accounts, most likely and considerable, 
are mostly, as I hope, truly pious and leading persons in 
the way of religion. Those that were formerly looser 
young persons, are generally, to all appearance, become 
true lovers of God and Christ, and spiritual in their dis- 
positions. And I hope that by far the greater part of 
persons in this town, above sixteen years of age, are such 
as have the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ; and so by 
what I heard, I suppose it is in some other places, par- 
ticularly at Sunderland and South Hadley. 

This has also appeared to be a very extraordinary dis- 
pensation, in that the spirit of God has so much extended 
not only his awakening, but regenerating influences, both 
to elderly persons, and also those that are very young. It 
has been a thing heretofore rarely heard of, that any were 
converted past middle age; but now we have the same 
ground to think that many such have in this time been 
savingly changed, as that others have been so in more 
early years. I suppose there were upwards of fifty persons 
in this town above forty years of age; and more than 
twenty of them above fifty, and about ten of them above 
sixty, and two of them above seventy years of age. 

It has heretofore been looked on as a strange thing, 
when any have seemed to be savingly wrought upon, and 
remarkably changed in their childhood; but now, I sup- 
pose, near thirty were to appearance so wrought upon 
between ten and fourteen years of age, and two between 
nine and ten, and one of them about four years of age; 
and because, I suppose, this last will be most difficultly 
believed, I shall hereafter give a particular account of 
it. The influences of God's spirit have also been very 
remarkable on children in some other places, particularly 
at Sunderland and South Hadley, and the west part of 
Suffield. There are several families in this town that are 
all hopefully pious; y^a, there are several numerous fam- 
ilies, in which, I think, we have reason to hope that all 
the children are truly godly, and most of them lately 
become so. And there are very few houses in the whole 
town into which salvation has not lately come, in one or 
more instances. There are several negroes, that from what 



A FAITHFUL NAKEATIYE 289 

was seen in them then, and what is discernible in them 
since, appear to have been truly born again in the late 
remarkable season. 

God has also seemed to have gone out of his usual 
way in the quickness of his work, and the swift progress 
his spirit has made in his operation on the hearts of many. 
'Tis wonderful that persons should be so suddenly, and 
yet so greatly changed. Many have been taken from a 
loose and careless way of living, and seized with strong 
convictions of their guilt and misery, and in a very little 
time old things have passed away, and all things have 
become new with them. 

God's work has also appeared very extraordinary, in 
the degrees of the influences of his spirit, both in the 
degree of awakening and conviction, and also in a degree 
of saving light, and love, and joy, that many have expe- 
rienced. It has also been very extraordinary in the extent 
of it, and its being so swiftly propagated from town to 
town. In former times of the pouring out of the spirit 
of God on this town, though in some of them it was 
very remarkable, yet it reached no further than this town, 
the neighboring towns all round continuing unmoved. 

The work of God's spirit seemed to be at its greatest 
height in this town, in the former part of the spring, in 
March and April; at which time God's work in the con- 
version of souls was carried on amongst us in so wonder- 
ful a manner, that so far as I, by looking back, can judge 
from the particular acquaintance I have had with souls in 
this work, it appears to me probable, to have been at the 
rate, at least, of four persons in a day, or near thirty in 
a week, take one with another, for five or six weeks to- 
gether. When God in so remarkable a manner took the 
work into his own hands, there was as much done in a 
day or two, as at ordinary times, with all endeavors that 
men can use, and with such a blessing as we commonly 
'have, is done in a year. 

I am very sensible how apt many would be, if they 
should see the account I have here given, presently to 
think with themselves that I am very fond of making a 
great many converts, and of magnifying and aggrandizing 
the matter; and to think, that for want of judgment, I 
take every religious pang, and enthusiastic conceit, for 
saving conversion; and I do not much wonder if they 



290 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

should be apt to think so. And for this reason, I have 
forborne to publish an account of this great work of God, 
though I have often been put upon it; but having now, 
as I thought, a special call to give an account of it, upon 
mature consideration, I thought it might not be beside 
my duty to declare this amazing work, as it appeared to 
me, to be indeed divine, and to conceal no part of the 
glory of it, leaving it with God to take care of the credit 
of his own work, and running the venture of any censo- 
rious thoughts, which might be entertained of me to my 
disadvantage. But that distant persons may be under 
as great advantage as may be, to judge for themselves of 
this matter, I would be a little more large, and particular. 

I therefore proceed to give an account of the manner 
of persons being wrought upon; and here there is a vast 
variety, perhaps as manifold as the subjects of the opera- 
tion; but yet in many things there is a great analogy 
in all. 

Persons are first awakened with a sense of their miser- 
able condition by nature, the danger they are in of perish- 
ing eternally, and that it is of great importance to them 
that they speedily escape, and get into a better state. 
Those that before were secure and senseless, are made 
sensible how much they were in the way to ruin in their 
former courses. Some are more suddenly seized with con- 
victions; it may be, by the news of others' conversion, or 
something they hear in public, or in private conference, 
their consciences are suddenly smitten, as if their hearts 
were pierced through with a dart. Others have awaken- 
ings that come upon them more gradually, they begin 
at first to be something more thoughtful and considerate, 
so as to come to a conclusion in their minds, that it is 
their best and wisest way to delay no longer, but to im- 
prove the present opportunity; and have accordingly set 
themselves seriously to meditate on those things that have 
the most awakening tendency, on purpose to obtain con- 
victions; and so their awakenings have increased, till a 
sense of their misery, by God's spirit setting in therewith, 
has had fast hold of them. Others that, before this won- 
derful time, had been something religious and concerned 
for their salvation, have been awakened in a new manner, 
and made sensible that their slack and dull way of seeking 
was never like to attain their purpose, and so have been 



A FAITHFUL NAKEATIYE 291 

roused up to a greater violence for the kingdom of heaven. 

These awakenings, when they have first seized on per- 
sons, have had two effects. One was, that they have 
brought them immediately to quit their sinful practices 
and the looser sort have been brought to forsake and dread 
their former vices and extravagances. When once the 
spirit of God began to be so wonderfully poured out in a 
general way through the town, people had soon done with 
their old quarrels, backbitings, and intermeddling with 
other men's matters; the tavern was soon left empty, and 
persons kept very much at home. None went abroad un- 
less on necessary business, or on some religious account, 
and every day seemed, in many respects, like a sabbath- 
day. And the other effect was that it put them on earnest 
application to the means of salvation, reading, prayer, 
meditation, the ordinances of God's house, and private 
conference. Their cry was. What shall we do to he saved? 
The place of resort was now altered ; it was no longer the 
tavern, but the minister's house ; that was thronged far 
more than ever the tavern had been wont to be. 

There is a very great variety, as to the degree of fear 
and trouble that persons are exercised with, before they 
obtain any comfortable evidences of pardon and accept- 
ance with God. Some are from the beginning carried on 
with abundantly more encouragement and hope, than 
others. Some have had ten times less trouble of mind 
than others, in whom yet the issue seems to be the same. 
Some have had such a sense of the displeasure of God, 
and the great danger they were in of damnation, that 
they could not sleep at nights; and many have said that 
when they have laid down, the thoughts of sleeping in 
such a condition have been frightful to them, and they 
have scarcely been free from terror while they have been 
asleep, and they have awaked with fear, heaviness, and 
distress still abiding on their spirits. It has been very 
common, that the deep and fixed concern that has been 
on persons' minds, has had a painful influence on their 
bodies, and given disturbance to animal nature. 

The awful apprehensions persons have had of their 
misery, have for the most part been increasing, the nearer 
they have approached to deliverance; though they often 
pass through many changes, and alterations in the frame 
and circumstances of their minds. Sometimes they think 



292 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

themselves wholly senseless, and fear that the spirit of 
God has left them, and that they are given np to judicial 
hardness; yet they appear very deeply exercised about 
that fear, and are in great earnest to obtain convictions 
again. 

Together with those fears and that exercise of mind 
which is rational, and which they have just ground for, 
they have often suffered many needless distresses of 
thought, in which Satan probably has a great hand, to 
entangle them, and block up their way; and sometimes 
the distemper of melancholy has been evidently mixed, 
of which, when it happens, the tempter seems to make 
great advantage, and puts an unhappy bar in the way of 
any good effect. One knows not how to deal with such 
persons; they turn every thing that is said to them the 
wrong way, and most to their own disadvantage. And 
there is nothing that the devil seems to make so great a 
handle of, as a melancholy humor, unless it be the real 
corruption of the heart. 

But it has been very remarkable, that there has been 
far less of this mixture in this time of extraordinary 
blessing, than there was wont to be in persons under 
awakenings at other times; for it is evident that many 
that before had been exceedingly involved in such diffi- 
culties, seemed now strangely to be set at liberty. Some 
persons that had before, for a long time, been exceedingly 
entangled with peculiar temptations, of one sort or other, 
and unprofitable and hurtful distresses, were soon helped 
over former stumbling blocks, that hindered any progress 
towards saving good; and convictions have wrought more 
kindly, and they have been successfully carried on in the 
way to life. And thus Satan seemed to be restrained, till 
towards the latter end of this wonderful time, when God's 
spirit was about to withdraw. 

Many times, persons under great awakenings were con- 
cerned, because they thought they were not awakened, but 
miserable, hard hearted, senseless, sottish creatures still, 
and sleeping upon the brink of hell. The sense of the need 
they have to be awakened, and of their comparative hard- 
ness, grows upon them with their awakenings; so that 
they seem to themselves to be very senseless, when indeed 
most sensible. There have been some instances of persons 
that have had as great a sense of their danger and misery, 



I 



A FAITHFUL NAKEATIYE 293 

as their natures could well subsist under, so that a little 
more would probably have destroyed them; and yet they 
have expressed themselves much amazed at their own in- 
sensibility and sottishness in such an extraordinary time 
as it then was. 

Persons are sometimes brought to the borders of 
despair, and it looks as black as midnight to them a little 
before the day dawns in their souls. Some few instances 
there have been of persons who have had such a sense 
of God's wrath for sin, that they have been overborne 
and made to cry out under an astonishing sense of their 
guilt, wondering that God suffers such guilty wretches 
to live upon earth, and that he doth not immediately 
send them to hell; and sometimes their guilt does so 
glare them in the face, that they are in exceeding terror 
for fear that God will instantly do it ; but more commonly 
the distresses under legal awakenings have not been to 
such a degree. In some, these terrors do not seem to be 
so sharp, when near comfort, as before; their convictions 
have not seemed to work so much that way, but they seem 
to be led further down into their own hearts, to a further 
sense of their own universal depravity, and deadness 
in sin. 

The corruption of. the heart has discovered itself in 
various exercises in the time of legal convictions; some- 
times it appears in a great struggle, like something roused 
by an enemy, and Satan, the old inhabitant, seems to 
exert himself like a serpent disturbed and enraged. Many 
in such circumstances, have felt a great spirit of envy 
towards the godly, especially towards those that are 
thought to have been lately converted, and most of all 
towards acquaintances and companions, when they are 
thought to be converted. Indeed some have felt many 
heart-risings against God, and murmurings at his ways 
of dealing with mankind, and his dealings with them- 
selves in particular. It has been much insisted on, both 
in public and private, that persons should have the 
utmost dread of such envious thoughts, which, if allowed, 
tend exceedingly to quench the spirit of God, if not to 
provoke him finally to forsake them. And when such a 
spirit has much prevailed, and persons have not so 
earnestly strove against it as they ought to have done, it 
has seemed to be exceedingly to the hindrance of the 



294 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

good of their souls. But in some other instances, where 
persons have been much terrified at the sight of such 
wickedness in their hearts, God has brought good to them 
out of evil, and made it a means of convincing them of 
their own desperate sinfulness, and bringing them off 
from all self-confidence. 

The drift of the spirit of God in his legal strivings with 
persons, has seemed most evidently to be, to make way 
for, and to bring to, a conviction of their absolute depend- 
ence on his sovereign power and grace, and universal 
necessity of a mediator, by leading them more and more 
to a sense of their exceeding wickedness, and guiltiness 
in his sight; the pollution and insufficiency of their own 
righteousness, that they can in no wise help themselves, 
and that God would be wholly just and righteous in reject- 
ing them, and all that they do, and in casting them off 
forever, though there be a vast variety, as to the manner 
and distinctness of persons' convictions of these things. 

As they are gradually more and more convinced of 
the corruption and wickedness of their hearts, they seem 
to themselves to grow worse and worse, harder and blinder, 
and more desperately wicked, instead of growing better. 
They are ready to be discouraged by it, and oftentimes 
never think themselves so far off from good as when they 
are nearest. Under the sense which the spirit of God 
gives them of their sinfulness, they often think that they 
differ from all others; their hearts are ready to sink with 
the thought, that they are the worst of all, and that none 
ever obtained mercy that were so wicked as they. 

When awakenings first begin, their consciences are 
commonly most exercised about their outward vicious 
course, or other acts of sin; but afterwards are much 
more burdened with a sense of heart sins, the dreadful 
corruption of their nature, their enmity against God, the 
pride of their hearts, their unbelief, their rejection of 
Christ, the stubbornness and obstinacy of their wills, and 
the like. In many, God makes much use of their own 
experience, in the course of their awakenings and en- 
deavors after saving good, to convince them of their own 
vile emptiness, and universal depravity. 

Very often under first awakenings, when they are 
brought to reflect on the sin of their past lives, and have 
something of a terrifying sense of God's anger, they set 



A FAITHFUL NAREATIVE 295 

themselves to walk more strictly, and confess their sins 
and perform many religious duties, with a secret hope 
of appeasing God's anger, and making up for the sins 
they have committed. And oftentimes, at first setting 
out, their affections are moved, and they are full of tears, 
in their confessions and prayers, which they are ready 
to make very much of, as though they were some atone- 
ment, and had power to move correspondent affections 
in God too. And hence they are, for a while, big with 
expectation of what God will do for them, and conceive 
that they grow better apace, and shall soon be thoroughly 
converted. But these affections are but short-lived; they 
quickly find that they fail, and then they think them- 
selves to be grown worse again; they do not find such a 
prospect of being soon converted as they thought; instead 
of being nearer, they seem to be farther off; their hearts 
they think are grown harder, and by this means their 
fears of perishing greatly increase. But though they are 
disappointed, they renew their attempts again and again; 
and still as their attempts are multiplied, so are their dis- 
appointments ; all fail, they see no token of having in- 
clined God's heart to them, they do not see that he hears 
their prayer at all, as they expected he would; and some- 
times there have been great temptations arising hence to 
leave off seeking, and to yield up the case. But as they 
are still more terrified with fears of perishing, and their 
former hopes of prevailing on God to be merciful to them 
in a great measure fail, sometimes their religious af- 
fections have turned into heart-risings against God, be- 
cause that he would not pity them, and seems to have 
little regard to their distress and piteous cries, and to all 
the pains they take. They think of the mercy that God 
has shown to others, how soon and how easily others have 
obtained comfort, and those too that were worse than 
they, and have not labored so much as they have done, and 
sometimes they have had even dreadful blasphemous 
thoughts in these circumstances. 

But when they reflect on these wicked workings of 
heart against God, if their convictions are continued, and 
the spirit of God is not provoked utterly to forsake them, 
they have more distressing apprehensions of the anger 
of God towards those whose hearts work after such a 
sinful manner about him ; and it may be have great fears 



296 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

that they have committed the unpardonable sin, or that 
God will surely never shew mercy to them that are such 
vipers : And are often tempted to leave off in despair. 

But then perhaps, by' something they read or hear of 
the infinite mercy of God, and all-sufficiency of Christ 
for the chief of sinners; they have some encouragement 
and hope renewed, but think that as yet they are not fit 
to come to Christ, they are so wicked that Christ will 
never accept of them. And then it may be they set them- 
selves upon a new course of fruitless endeavors in their 
own strength to make themselves better, and still meet 
with new disappointments. They are earnest to inquire 
what they shall do ? They do not know but there is some- 
thing else to be done, in order to their obtaining convert- 
ing grace, that they have never done yet. It may be they 
hope that they are something better than they were; but 
then the pleasing dream all vanishes again. If they are 
told that they trust too much to their own strength and 
righteousness, they cannot unlearn this practice all at 
once, and find not yet the appearance of any good, but 
all looks as dark as midnight to them. Thus they wander 
about from mountain to hill, seeking rest and finding 
none. When they are beat out of one refuge they fly to 
another, till they are as it were, debilitated, broken and 
subdued with legal humblings; in which God gives them 
a conviction of their own utter helplessness and insuf- 
ficiency, and discovers the true remedy in a clearer knowl- 
edge of Christ and his gospel. 

When they begin to seek salvation, they are commonly 
profoundly ignorant of themselves; they are not sensible 
how blind they are, and how little they can do towards 
bringing themselves to see spiritual things aright, and 
towards putting forth gracious exercises in their own 
souls; they are not sensible how remote they are from 
love to God, and other holy dispositions, and how dead 
they are to sin. When they see unexpected pollution in 
their own hearts, they go about to wash away their own 
defilements, and make themselves clean; and they weary 
themselves in vain, till God shews them it is in vain, and 
that their help is not where they have sought it, but else- 
where. 

But some persons continue wandering in such a kind 
of labyrinth, ten times as long as others, before their own 



A 



A FAITHFUL NAKKATIYE 297 

experience will convince them of their insufficiency; and 
so it appears not to be their own experience only, but 
the convincing influence of God's spirit with their ex- 
perience, that attains the effect. And God has of late 
abundantly shown that he does not need to wait to have 
men convinced by long and often repeated, fruitless 
trials; for in multitudes of instances, he has made a 
shorter work of it: He has so awakened and convinced 
persons' consciences, and made them so sensible of their 
exceeding" great vileness, and given them such a sense of 
his wrath against sin, as has quickly overcome all their 
vain self-confidence, and borne them down into the dust 
before a holy and righteous God. 

There have been some who have not had great terrors, 
but have had a very quick work. Some of those that have 
not had so deep a conviction of these things before their 
conversion, have, it may be, much more of it afterwards. 
God has appeared far from limiting himself to any certain 
method in his proceedings with sinners under legal con- 
victions. In some instances, it seems easy for our reason- 
ing powers to discern the methods of divine wisdom, in 
his dealings with the soul under awakenings; in others, 
his footsteps cannot be traced, and his ways are past find- 
ing out. And some that are less distinctly wrought upon, 
in what is preparatory to grace, appear no less eminent in 
gracious experiences afterwards. 

There is in nothing a greater difference, in different 
persons, than with respect to the time of their being under 
trouble; some but a few days, and others for months or 
years. There were many in this town that had been before 
this effusion of God's spirit upon us, for years, and some 
for many years, concerned about their salvation; though 
probably they were not thoroughly awakened, yet they 
were concerned to such a degree as to be very uneasy, so 
a3 to live an uncomfortable, disquieted life, and so as to 
continue in a way of taking considerable pains about 
their salvation. But had never obtained any comfortable 
evidence of a good estate, who now in this extraordinary 
time have received light ; but many of them were some of 
the last. They first saw multitudes of others rejoicing, 
and with songs of deliverance in their mouths, who seemed 
wholly careless and at ease, and in pursuit of vanity, while 
they had been bowed down with solicitude about their 



298 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

souls; yea, some liad lived licentiously, and so continued 
till a little before they were converted, and grew up to 
a holy rejoicing in the infinite blessings God had bestowed 
upon them. 

And whatever minister has a like occasion to deal with 
souls, in a flock under such circumstances, as this was in 
the last year, I cannot but think he will soon find himself 
under a necessity, greatly to insist upon it with them, that 
God is under no manner of obligations to shew any mercy 
to any natural man, whose heart is not turned to God. 
And that a man can challenge nothing, either in absolute 
justice, or by free promise, from any thing he does before 
he has believed on Jesus Christ, or has true repentance 
begun in him. It appears to me, that if I had taught those 
that came to me under trouble, any other doctrine, I 
should have taken a most direct course utterly to have 
undone them. I should have directly crossed what was 
plainly the drift of the spirit of God in his influences 
upon them; for if they had believed what I said, it would 
either have promoted self -flattery and carelessness, and so 
put an end to their awakenings, or cherished and 
established their contention and strife with God, concern- 
ing his dealings with them and others, and blocked up 
their way to that humiliation before the sovereign dis- 
poser of life and death, whereby God is wont to prepare 
them for his consolations. And yet those that have been 
under awakenings, have oftentimes plainly stood in need 
of being encouraged, by being told of the infinite and all- 
sufficient mercy of God in Christ; and that it is God's 
manner to succeed diligence, and to bless his own means, 
that so awakenings and encouragements, fear and hope, 
may be duly mixed, and proportioned to preserve their 
minds in a just medium between the two extremes of self- 
flattery and despondence, both which tend to slackness and 
negligence, and in the end to security. 

I think I have found that no discourses have been more 
remarkably blessed, than those in which the doctrine of 
God's absolute sovereignty with regard to the salvation 
of sinners, and his just liberty with regard to answering 
the prayers, or succeeding the pains of mere natural men, 
continuing such, have been insisted on. I never found so 
much immediate saving fruit, in any measure, of any dis- 
courses I have offered to my congregation, as some from 



A FAITHFUL NARRATIVE 299 

those words, Rom. iii. 19. — "That every mouth may be 
stopped;" endeavoring to shew from thence that it would 
be just with God forever to reject and cast off mere 
natural men. 

In those in whom awakenings seem to have a saving 
issue, commonly the first thing that appears after their 
legal troubles, is a conviction of the justice of God in 
their condemnation, in a sense of their own exceeding 
sinfulness, and the vileness of all their performances. In 
giving an account of this, they expressed themselves very 
variously; some, tliat they saw that God was sovereign,, 
and might receive others and reject them ; some, that they 
were convinced that God might justly bestow mercy on 
every person in the town, and on every person in the 
world, and damn themselves to all eternity; some, that 
they may see that God may justly have no regard to all 
the pains they have taken, and all the prayers they have 
made; some, that they see that if they should seek, and 
take the utmost pains all their lives, God might justly 
cast them into hell at last, because all their labors, prayers 
and tears, cannot make an atonement for the least sin, 
nor merit any blessing at the hands of God; some have 
declared themselves to be in the hands of God, that he 
can and may dispose of them just as he pleases; some 
that God may glorify himself in their damnation, and 
they wonder that God has suffered them to live so long, 
and has not cast them into hell long ago. 

Some are brought to this conviction, by a great sense- 
of their sinfulness, in general, that they are such vile, 
wicked creatures in heart and life. Others have the sins 
of their lives in an extraordinary manner set before them, 
multitudes of them coming just then fresh to their mem- 
ory, and being set before them with their aggravations; 
some have their minds especially fixed, on some particu- 
lar wicked practice they have indulged ; some are especial- 
ly convinced by a sight of the corruption and wickedness 
of their hearts ; some from a view they have of the horrid- 
ness of some particular exercises of corruption, which 
they have had in the time of their awakening, whereby 
the enmity of the heart against God has been manifested ; 
some are convinced especially by a sense of the sin of 
unbelief, the opposition of their hearts to the way of sal- 



300 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

vat ion by Christ, and their obstinacy in rejecting him 
and his grace. 

There is a great deal of difference as to persons' dis- 
tinctness here; some, that have not so clear a sight of 
God's justice in their condemnation, yet mention things 
that plainly imply it. They find a disposition to acknowl- 
edge God to be just and righteous in his threatenings, and 
that they are deserving of nothing. And many times, 
though they had not so particular a sight of it at the 
beginning, they have very clear discoveries of it soon 
afterwards, with great humblings in the dust before God. 

Commonly persons' minds immediately before this dis- 
covery of God's justice are exceeding restless and in a 
kind of struggle and tumult, and sometimes in mere 
anguish; but generally, as soon as they have this convic- 
tion, it immediately brings their minds to a calm, and a 
before unexpected quietness and composure; and most 
frequently, though not always, then the pressing weight 
upon their spirits is taken away, and a general hope 
arises, that some time or other God will be gracious, even 
before any distinct and particular discoveries of mercy; 
and often they then come to a conclusion within them- 
selves, that they will lie at God's feet, and wait his time; 
and they rest in that, not being sensible that the spirit 
of God has now brought them to a frame whereby they 
are prepared for mercy; for it is remarkable that per- 
sons, when they first have this sense of the justice of 
God, rarely in the time of it, think any thing of its being 
that humiliation that they have often heard insisted on, 
and that others experience. 

In many persons, the first convictions of the justice of 
God in their condemnation, which they take particular 
notice of, and probably the first distinct conviction of it 
that they have, is of such a nature, as seems to be above 
any thing merely legal. Though it be after legal 
humblings, and much of a sense of their own helplessness, 
and of the insufficiency of their own duties; yet it does 
not appear to be forced by mere legal terrors and convic- 
tions ; but rather from an high exercise of grace, in saving 
repentance, and evangelical humiliation ; for there is in it 
a sort of complacency of soul, in the attribute of God's 
justice, as displayed in his threatnings of eternal damna- 
tion to sinners. Sometimes at the discovery of it, they 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIYE 301 

can scarcely forbear crying out, 'Tis Just! 'Tis Just! 
Some express themselves, that they see the glory of God 
would shine bright in their own condemnation; and they 
are ready to think that if they are damned, they could 
take part with God against themselves, and would glorify 
his justice therein. And when it is thus, they commonly 
have some evident sense of free and allsufficient grace, 
though they give no distinct account of it; but it is man- 
ifest, by that great degree of hope and encouragement 
that they then conceive, though they were never so sen- 
sible of their own vileness and illdeservings as they are 
at that time. 

Some, when in such circumstances, have felt that sense 
of the excellency of God's justice, appearing in the vin- 
dictive exercises of it, against such sinfulness as theirs 
was, and have had such a submission of mind in their idea 
of this attribute, and of those exercises of it, together with 
an exceeding loathing of their own un worthiness, and a 
kind of indignation against themselves, that they have 
sometimes almost called it a willingness to be damned; 
though it must be owned they had not clear and distinct 
ideas of damnation, nor does any word in the Bible 
require such self denial as this. But the truth is, as some 
have more clearly expressed it, that salvation has appeared 
too good for them, that they were worthy of nothing but 
condemnation, and they could not tell how to think of 
salvation's being bestowed upon them, fearing it was in- 
consistent with the glory of God's majesty that they had 
so much contemned and affronted. 

That calm of spirit that some persons have found aftei 
their legal distresses, continues some time before any 
special and delightful manifestation is made to the soul of 
the grace of God, as revealed in the gospel; but very 
often some comfortable and sweet view of a merciful God, 
of a sufficient Redeemer, or of some great and joyful 
things of the gospel, immediately follows, or in a very 
little time. And in some, the first sight of their just desert 
of hell, and God's sovereignty with respect to their sal- 
vation, and a discovery of allsufficient grace, are so near, 
that they seem to go as it were together. 

These gracious discoveries that are given, whence the 
first special comforts are derived, are in many respects 
very various; more frequently Christ is distinctly made 



302 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

the object of the mind, in his allsufficiency and willing- 
ness to save sinners. But some have their thoughts more 
especially fixed on God, in some of his sweet and glorious 
attributes manifested in the gospel, and shining forth in 
the face of Christ. Some view the allsufficiency of the 
mercy and grace of God; some chiefly the infinite power 
of God, and his ability to save them, and to do all things 
for them; and some look most at the truth and faithful- 
ness of God. In some, the truth and certainty of the 
gospel in general is the first joyful discovery they have; in 
others, the certain truth of some particular promises; in 
some, the grace and sincerity of God in his invitations, 
very commonly in some particular invitation in the mind, 
and it now appears real to them that God does indeed 
invite them. Some are struck with the glory and wonder- 
fulness of the dying love of Christ; and some with the 
sufficiency and preciousness of his blood, as offered to 
make an atonement for sin ; and others with the value and 
glory of his obedience and righteousness. In some the 
excellency and loveliness of Christ chiefly engages their 
thoughts; in some his divinity, that he is indeed the son 
of the living God; and in others the excellency of the 
way of salvation by Christ, and the suitableness of it to 
their necessities. 

Some have an apprehension of these things so given, 
that it seems more natural to them to express it by sight 
or discovery; others think what they experience better 
expressed by the realizing conviction, or a lively or feeling 
sense of heart; meaning, as I suppose, no other difference 
but what is merely circumstantial or gradual. 

There is often in the mind, some particular text of 
scripture, holding forth some evangelical ground of con- 
solation; sometimes a multitude of texts^ gracious invi- 
tations and promises flowing in one after another, filling 
the soul more and more with comfort and satisfaction; 
and comfort is first given to some while reading some 
portion of scripture; but in some it is attended with no 
particular scripture at all, either in reading or medita- 
tion. In some, many divine things seem to be discovered 
to the soul as it were at once; others have their minds 
especially fixing on some one thing at first, and afterwards 
a sense is given of others; in some with a swifter and 



A FAITHFUL NAEKATIVE 303 

others a slower succession, and sometimes with interrup- 
tions of much darkness. 

The way that grace seems sometimes first to appear 
after legal humiliation, is in earnest longings of soul after 
God and Christ, to know God, to love him, to be humble 
before him, to have communion with Christ in his bene- 
fits; which longings, as they express them, seem evidently 
to be of such a nature as can arise from nothing but a 
sense of the superlative excellency of divine things, with 
a spiritual taste and relish of them, and an esteem of them 
as their highest happiness and best portion. Such long- 
ings as I speak of, are commonly attended with firm res- 
olutions to pursue this good forever, together with a 
hoping, waiting disposition. When persons have begun in 
such frames, commonly other experiences and discoveries 
have soon followed, which have yet more clearly mani- 
fested a change of heart. 

It must needs be confest that Christ is not always dis- 
tinctly and explicitly thought of in the first sensible act 
of grace (though most commonly he is;) but sometimes 
he is the object of the mind only implicitly. Thus some- 
times when persons have seemed evidently to be stript 
of all their own righteousness, and to have stood self con- 
demned as guilty of death, they have been comforted with 
a joyful and satisfying view, that the mercy and grace of 
God is sufficient for them; that their sins, though never 
so great, shall be no hindrance to their being accepted; 
that there is mercy enough in God for the whole world, 
and the like, when they give no account of any particular 
or distinct thought of Christ; but yet when the account 
they give is duly weighed, and they are a little interro- 
gated about it, it appears that the revelation of the mercy 
of God in the gospel, is the ground of this their en- 
couragement and hope; and that it is indeed the mercy 
of God through Christ, that is discovered to them, and 
that it is depended on in him, and not in any wise moved 
by any thing in them. 

So sometimes disconsolate souls amongst us, have been 
revived and brought to rest in God, by a sweet sense given 
of his grace and faithfulness, in some special invitation or 
promise, in which is no particular mention of Christ, nor 
is it accompanied with any distinct thought of him in 
their minds; but yet it is not received as out of Christ, 



804 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

but as one of the invitations or promises made of God to 
poor sinners through his son Jesus, as it is indeed; and 
such persons have afterwards had clear and distinct dis- 
coveries of Christ accompanied with lively and special 
actings of faith and love towards him. 

It has more frequently been so amongst us that when 
persons have first had the gospel ground of relief for lost 
sinners discovered to them, and have been entertaining 
their minds with the sweet prospect, they have thought 
nothing at that time of their being converted. To see 
that there is such an allsufficiency in ,God, and such plenti- 
ful provision made in Christ, after they have been borne 
down, and sunk with a sense of their guilt and fears of 
wrath, exceedingly refreshes them ; the view is joyful to 
them, as it is in its own nature glorious, and gives them 
quite new, and more delightful ideas of God and Christ, 
and greatly encourages them to seek conversion, and begets 
in them a strong resolution to give up themselves, and 
devote their whole lives to God and his son, and patiently 
to wait till God shall see fit to make all effectual; and 
very often they entertain a strong persuasion, that he will 
in his own time do it for them. 

There is wrought in them a holy repose of soul in God 
through Christ, and a secret disposition to fear and love 
him, and to hope for blessings from him in this way. And 
yet they have no imagination that they are now converted, 
it does not so much as come into their minds; and very 
often the reason is, that they do not see that they do ac- 
cept of this sufficiency of salvation, that they behold in 
Christ, having entertained a wrong notion of acceptance; 
not being sensible that the obedient and joyful entertain- 
ment which their hearts give to this discovery of grace, is 
a real acceptance of it. They know not that the sweet 
complacence they feel in the mercy and complete salva- 
tion of God, as it includes pardon and sanctification, and 
is held forth to them only through Christ, is a true receiv- 
ing of this mercy, or a plain evidence of their receiving it. 
They expected I know not what kind of act of soul, and 
perhaps they had no distinct idea of it themselves. 

And indeed it appears very plainly in some of them, 
that before their own conversion they had very imperfect 
ideas what conversion was. It is all new and strange, 
and what there was no clear conception of before. It is 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE 306 

most evident, as they themselves acknowledge, that the 
expressions that were used to describe conversion, and 
the graces of God's spirit, such as a spiritual sight of 
Christ, faith in Christ, poverty of spirit, trust in God, 
resignedness to God, &c. were expressions that did not 
convey those special and distinct ideas to their minds 
which they were intended to signify. Perhaps to some of 
them it was but little more than the names of colors are 
to convey the ideas to one that is blind from his birth. 

This town is a place where there has always been a 
great deal of talk of conversion, and spiritual experiences; 
and therefore people in general had before formed a no- 
tion in their own minds what these things were ; but when 
they come to be the subjects of them themselves they find 
themselves much confounded in their notions, and over- 
thrown in many of their former conceits. And it has 
been very observable, that persons of thfe greatest under- 
standing, and that had studied most about things of this 
nature, have been more confounded than others. Some 
such persons that have lately been converted, declare that 
all their former wisdom is brought to naught, and that 
they appear to have been mere babes, who knew nothing. 
It has appeared that none have stood more in need of en- 
lightening and instruction, even of their fellow chris- 
tians, concerning their own circumstances and difficul- 
ties, than they. And it has seemed to have been with 
delight, that they have seen themselves thus brought down 
and become nothing, that free grace and divine power 
may be exalted in them. 

It was very wonderful to see after what manner per- 
sons' affections were sometimes moved and wrought upon, 
when God did, as it were, suddenly open their eyes, and 
let into their minds, a sense of the greatness of his grace, 
and fullness of Christ, and his readiness to save, who be- 
fore were broken with apprehensions of divine wrath, 
and sunk into an abyss under a sense of guilt, which they 
were ready to think was beyond the mercy of God. Their 
joyful surprise has caused their hearts as it were to leap, 
so that they have been ready to break forth into laughter, 
tears often at the same time issuing like a flood, and in- 
termingling a loud weeping. And sometimes they have 
not been able to forbear crying out with a loud voice, ex- 
pressing their great admiration. In some even the view 



306 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

of the glory of God's sovereignty in the exercises of his 
grace, has surprised the soul with such sweetness, as to 
produce the same effects. I remember an instance of one, 
who, reading something concerning God's sovereign way 
of saving sinners, as being self moved, and having no 
regard to men's own righteousness as the motive of 
his grace, but as magnifying himself, and abasing man, 
or to that purpose, felt such a sudden rapture of joy and 
delight in the consideration of it; and yet then sus- 
pected himself to be in a Christless condition, and had 
been long in great distress for fear that God would not 
have mercy on him. 

Many continue a long time in a course of gracious ex- 
ercises and experiences, and do not think themselves to 
be converted, but conclude themselves to be otherwise; 
and none know how long they would continue so, were 
they not helped by particular instruction. There are 
undoubted instances of some that have lived in this way 
for many years together; and a continuing in these cir- 
cumstances of being converted and not believing it, has 
had various consequences, with various persons, and 
with the same persons, at various times; some continue 
in great encouragement and hope, that they shall obtain 
mercy, in a stedfast resolution to persevere in seeking it, 
and in an humble waiting for it at God's foot; but very 
often when the lively sense of the sufficiency of Christ, 
and the riches of divine grace begins to vanish, upon a 
withdrawal of the influences of the spirit of God, they 
return to greater distress than ever; for they have now 
a far greater sense of the misery of a natural condition 
than before, being in a new manner sensible of the real- 
ity of eternal things, and the greatness of God, and his 
excellency, and how dreadful it is to be separated from 
him, and to be subject to his wrath; so that they are some- 
times swallowed up with darkness and amazement. Satan 
has a vast advantage in such cases to ply them with va- 
rious temptations, which he is not wont to neglect. In 
such a case persons do very much need a guide to lead 
them to an understanding of what we are taught in the 
word of God of the nature of grace, and to help them to 
apply it to themselves. 

I have been much blamed and censured by many, that 
I should make it my practice, when I have been satisfied 



A FAITHFUL NAEKATIYE 307 

concerning persons' good estate, to signify it to them. 
Which thing has been greatly misrepresented abroad, as 
innumerable other things concerning us, to prejudice the 
country against the whole affair. But let it be noted, 
that what I have undertaken to judge of, has rather been 
qualifications, and declared experiences, than persons. 
IN^ot but that I have thought it my duty, as a pastor, to 
assist and instruct persons in applying scripture rules and 
characters to their own case, (in doing of which, I think 
many greatly need a guide;) and have, where I thought 
the case plain, used freedom in signifying my hope of 
them, to others. But have been far from doing this con- 
cerning all that I have had some hopes of; and I 
believe have used much more caution than many have 
supposed. Yet I should account it a great calamity to be 
deprived of the comfort of rejoicing with those of my 
flock, that have been in great distress, whose circum- 
stances I have been acquainted with, when there seems 
to be good evidence that those that were dead are alive, 
and those that were lost are found. I am sensible the 
practice would have been safer in the hands of one of a 
riper judgment and greater experience ; but yet there has 
seemed to be an absolute necessity of it on the foremen- 
tioned accounts; and it has been found to be that which 
God has most remarkably owned and blessed amongst us, 
both to the person themselves, and others. 

Grace in many persons, through this ignorance of their 
state, and their looking on themselves still as the objects 
of God's displeasure, has been like the trees in winter, 
or like seed in spring suppressed under a hard clod of 
earth; and many in such cases have labored to their ut- 
most to divert their minds from the pleasing and joyful 
views they have had, and to suppress those consolations 
and gracious affections that arose thereupon. And when 
it has once come into their minds to inquire whether or 
no' this was not true grace, they have been much afraid 
lest they should be deceived with common illumination 
and flashes of affection, and eternally undone with a false 
hope. But when they have been better instructed, and so 
brought to allow of hope, this has awakened the gracious 
disposition of their hearts into life and vigor, as the warm 
beams of the sun in the spring, have quickened the seeds 
and productions of the earth. Grace being now at lib- 



308 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

erty, and cherished with hope, has soon flowed out to 
their abundant satisfaction and increase. 

There is no one thing that I know of that God has 
made such a means of promoting his work amongst us, 
as the news of others' conversion; in the awakening sin- 
ners, and engaging them earnestly to seek the same bless- 
ing, and in the quickening of saints. Though I have 
thought that a minister's declaring his judgment about 
particular person's experiences, might from these things 
be justified, yet I am often signifying to my people how 
unable man is to know another's heart, and how unsafe 
it is depending merely on the judgment of ministers, or 
others ; and have abundantly insisted on it with them, that 
a manifestation of sincerity in fruits brought forth, is 
better than any manifestation they can make of it in 
words alone can be; and that without this, all pretences 
to spiritual experiences are vain; as all my congregation 
can witness. And the people in general, in this late ex- 
traordinary time, have manifested an extraordinary dread 
of being deceived, being exceeding fearful lest they 
should build wrong, and some of them backward to re- 
ceive hope, even to a great extreme, which has occasioned 
me to dwell longer on this part of the narrative. 

Conversion is a great and glorious work of God's power, 
at once changing the heart, and infusing life into the 
dead soul; though that grace that is then implanted does 
more gradually display itseK in some than in others. 
But as to fixing on the precise time when they put forth 
the very first act of grace, there is a great deal of differ- 
ence in different persons; in some it seems to be very 
discernible when the very time of this was; but others 
are more at a loss. In this respect there are very many 
that do not know the time (as has been already observed) 
when they have the first exercises of grace, do not know 
that it is the grace of conversion, and sometimes do not 
think it to be so till a long time after. And many, even 
when they come to entertain great hope that they are con- 
verted, if they remember what they experienced in the 
first exercises of grace, they are at a loss whether it was 
any more than a common illumination; or whether some 
other, more clear and remarkable experience, that they 
had afterwards, was not the first that was of a saving na- 
ture. And the manner of God's work on the soul is 



A FAITHFUL NAKKATIYE 309 

(sometimes especially) very mysterious, and it is with 
the kingdom of God as to its manifestation in the heart of 
a convert, as it is said: Mark iv. 26, 27, 28. "So is the 
kingdom of God, as if a. man should cast seed into the 
ground, and should sleep, and rise night and day, and the 
seed should spring, and grow up, he knoweth not how; 
for the earth bringeth forth of herself, first the blade, 
then the ear, then the full corn in the ear.'' 

In some, converting light is like a glorious brightness, 
suddenly shining in upon a person, and all around him. 
They are in a renaarkable manner brought out of darkness 
into marvellous light. In many others it has been like 
the dawning of the day, when at first but a little light 
appears, and it may be is presently hid with a cloud; and 
then it appears again and shines a little brighter, and 
gradually increases, with intervening darkness, till at 
length, perhaps, it breaks forth more clearly from behind 
the clouds. And many are, doubtless, ready to date their 
conversion wrong, throwing by those lesser degrees of light 
that appeared at first dawning, and calling some more 
remarkable experience, that they had afterwards, their 
conversion; which often in a great measure arises from a 
wrong understanding of what they have always been 
taught, that conversion is a great change, wherein old 
things are done away, and all things become new, or at 
least from a false arguing from that doctrine. 

Persons commonly at first conversion, and afterwards, 
have had many texts of scripture brought to their minds, 
that are exceeding suitable to their circumstances, which 
often come with great power, and as the word of God or 
Christ indeed; and many have a multitude of sweet invi- 
tations, promises, and doxologies flowing in one after an- 
other, bringing great light and comfort with them, filling 
the soul brim full, enlarging the heart, and opening the 
mouth in religion. And it seems to me necessary to sup- 
pose, that there is an immediate influence of the spirit of 
God, oftentimes in bringing texts of scripture to the mind. 
Not that I suppose it is done in a way of immediate reve- 
lation, without any manner of use of the memory ; but yet 
there seems plainly to be an immediate and extraordinary 
influence, in leading their thoughts to such and such 
passages of scripture, and exciting them in the memory. 
Indeed, in some, God seems to bring texts of scripture to 



310 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

their minds no otherwise than by leading them into such 
fi:ames and meditations, as harmonize with those scrip- 
tures; but in many persons there seems to be something 
more than this. 

Those that while under legal convictions, had the great- 
est terrors have not always obtained the greatest light 
and comfort; nor have they always light most suddenly 
communicated; but yet I think, the time of conversion 
has generally been most sensible in such persons. Often- 
times, the first sensible change after the extremity of ter- 
rors, is a calmness, and then the light gradually comes in ; 
small glimpses at first, after their midnight darkness, and 
a word or two of comfort, as it were, softly spoken to 
them; they have a little taste of the sweetness of divine 
grace, and the love of a Saviour, when terror and. distress 
of conscience begins to be turned into an humble, meek 
sense of their own unworthiness before God; and there is 
felt inwardly, perhaps, some disposition to praise God; 
and after a little while the light comes in more clearly 
and powerfully. But yet, I think more frequently, great 
terrors have been followed with more sudden and great 
light, and comfort; when the sinner seems to be, as it 
were, subdued and brought to a calm, from a kind of tu- 
mult of mind, then God lets in an extraordinary sense of 
his great mercy through a Redeemer. 

The converting influences of God's spirit very com- 
monly bring an extraordinary conviction of the reality 
and certainty of the great things of religion; (though in 
some this is much greater, some time after conversion, 
than at first.) They have that sight and taste of the di- 
vinity, or divine excellency, that there is in the things of 
the gospel, that is more to convince them, than reading 
many volumes of arguments without it. It seems to me 
that in many instances amongst us, when the divine excel- 
lency and glory of the things of Christianity have been 
set before persons, and they have at the same time, as it 
were, seen and tasted, and felt the divinity of them, they 
have been as far from doubting of the truth of them, as 
they are from doubting whether there be a sun, when their 
eyes are open in the midst of a clear hemisphere, and the 
strong blaze of his light overcomes all objections against 
his being. And yet many of them, if we would ask them 
why they believed those things to be true, would not be 



A FAITHFUL NAEKATIVE 311 

able well to express, or commuiiicate a sufficient reason, 
to satisfy the inquirer, and perhaps would make no other 
answer but that they see them to be true. But a person 
may soon be satisfied, by particular conversation with 
them, that what they mean by such an answer is, that 
they have intuitively beheld, and immediately felt, most 
illustrious works, and powerful evidence of divinity in 
them. 

Some are thus convinced of the truth of the gospel in 
general, and that the scriptures are the word of God. 
Others have their minds more especially fixed on some 
particular great doctrine of the gospel, some particular 
truths that they are meditating on; or are in a special 
manner convinced of the divinity of the things they are 
reading of, in some portion of scripture. Some have 
such convictions in a much more remarkable manner 
than others. And there are some that never had such a 
special sense of the certainty of divine things impressed 
upon them with such inward evidence and strength, have 
yet very clear exercises of grace; i. e. of love to God, re- 
pentance, and holiness. And if they be more particularly 
examined, they appear plainly to have an inward, firm 
persuasion of the reality of divine things, such as they 
do not use to have before their conversion. And those 
that have the most clear discoveries of divine truth, in the 
manner that has been spoken of, cannot have this always 
in view. When the sense and relish of the divine excel- 
lency of these things, fades on a withdrawment of the 
spirit of God, they have not the medium of the conviction 
of their truth at command. In a dull frame they can- 
not recall the idea, and inward sense they had, perfectly 
to mind; things appear very dim to what they did before. 
And though there still remains an habitual strong per- 
suasion, yet not so as to exclude temptations to unbelief, 
and all possibility of doubting, as before. But then at 
particular times, by God's help, the same sense of things 
revives again, like fire that lay hid in ashes. 

I suppose the grounds of such a conviction of the 
truth of divine things to be just and rational, but yet in 
some God makes use of their own reason much more 
sensibly than in others. Oftentimes persons have (so 
far as could be judged) received the first saving convic- 
tion from reasoning, which they have heard from the 



312 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

pulpit; and ofter in the course of reasoning, which they 
are led into in their own meditations. 

The arguments are the same that they have heard hun- 
dreds of times; but the force of the arguments, and their 
conviction by them, is altogether new; they come with a 
new and before unexperienced power. Before they heard 
it was so, and they allowed it to be so; but now they see 
it to be so indeed. Things now look exceeding plain to 
them, and they wonder that they did not see them before. 

They are so greatly taken with their new discovery, 
and things appear so plain and so rational to them, that 
they are often at first ready to think they can convince 
others, and are apt to engage in talk with every one they 
meet with, almost to this end; and when they are disap- 
pointed, are ready to wonder that their reasonings seem 
to make no more impression. 

Many fall under such a mistake as to be ready to doubt 
of their good estate, because there was so much use made 
of their own reason in the conviction they have received; 
they are afraid that they have no illumination above the 
natural force of their own faculties. And many make 
that an objection against the spirituality of their convic- 
tions, that it is so easy to see things as they now see 
them. They have often heard that conversion is a work 
of mighty power, manifesting to the soul, what no man 
nor angel can give, such a conviction of; but it seems to 
them that the things that they see are so plain and easy, 
and rational that any body can see them. And if they 
are inquired of, why they never saw so before; they say, 
it seems to them it was because they never thought of it. 
But very often these difficulties are soon removed by 
those of another nature ; for when God withdraws, they 
find themselves as it were blind again, they for the pres- 
ent lose their realizing sense of those things that looked 
so plain to them, and by all that they can do they cannot 
recover it, till God renews the influences of his spirit. 

Persons after their conversion often speak of things of 
religion as seeming new to them; that preaching is a 
new thing ; that it seems to them they never heard preach- 
ing before ; that the Bible is a new book. They find there 
new chapters, new psalms, new histories, because they see 
them in a new light. Here was a remarkable instance of 
an aged woman of above seventy years that had spent 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE 313 

most of her days under Mr, Stoddard's powerful ministry ; 
who, reading in the New Testament, concerning Christ's 
sufferings for sinners, seemed to be surprised and aston- 
ished at what she read, as at a thing that was real and 
very wonderful, but quite new to her, insomuch that at 
first, before she had time to turn her thoughts, she won- 
dered within herself that she had never heard of it be- 
fore; but then immediately recollected herself, and 
thought that she had often heard of it, and read it, but 
never until now saw it as a thing real; and then cast in 
her mind, how wonderful this was, that the Son of God 
should undergo such things for sinners, and how she had 
spent her time in ungratefully sinning against so good a 
God, and such a Saviour; though she was a person, as to 
what was visible, of a very blameless and inoffensive life. 
And she was so overcome by those considerations, that 
her nature was ready to fail under them. Those that 
were about her, and knew not what was the matter, were 
surprised and thought she was a dying. 

Many have spoke much of their hearts being drawn out 
in love to God and Christ, and their minds being wrapt up 
in delightful contemplation of the glory and wonderful 
grace of God, and the excellency and dying love of Jesus 
Christ, and of their souls going forth in longing desires 
after God and Christ. Several of our young children 
have expressed much of this, and have manifested a will- 
ingness to leave father and mother, and all things in the 
world, to go to be with Christ. Some persons have had 
longing desires after Christ, which have risen to that de- 
gree, as to take away their natural strength. Some have 
been so overcome with a sense of the dying love of Christ, 
to such poor, wretched, and unworthy creatures, as to 
weaken the body. Several persons have had so great a 
sense of the glory of God, and excellency of Christ, that 
nature and life have seemed almost to sink under it; and 
in all probability, if God had shewed them a little more of 
himself, it would have dissolved their frame. I have seen 
some and been in conversation with them in such frames, 
who have certainly been perfectly sober, and very remote 
from any thing like enthusiastic wildness; and have 
talked, when able to speak of the glory of God's perfec- 
tions, and the wonderfulness of his grace in Christ, and 
their own unworthiness, in such a manner that cannot be 



314 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

perfectly expressed after them. Their sense of their ex- 
ceeding littleness and vileness, and their disposition to 
abase themselves before God, has appeared to be great in 
proportion to their light and joy. 

Such persons amongst us as have been thus distin- 
guished with the most extraordinary discoveries with God, 
have commonly in no wise appeared with the assuming, 
and self conceited, and self sufficient airs of enthusiasts; 
but exceedingly the contrary ; and are eminent for a spirit 
of meekness, modesty, selfdiffidence, and a low opinion of 
themselves. No persons seem to be so sensible of their 
need of instruction, and so eager to receive it, as some of 
them; nor so ready to think others better than themselves. 
Those that have been thought to be converted amongst us, 
have generally manifested a longing to lie low, and in the 
dust before God; withal complaining of their not being 
able to lie low enough. 

They very often speak much of their sense of the ex- 
cellency of the way of salvation, by free and sovereign 
grace, through the righteousness of Christ alone; and how 
it is with delight that they renounce their own righteous- 
ness, and rejoice in having no account made of it. Many 
have expressed themselves to this purpose, that it would 
lessen the satisfaction they hope for in heaven, to have it 
by their own righteousness, or in any other way than as 
bestowed by free grace, and for Christ's sake alone. They 
speak much of the inexpressibleness of what they experi- 
ence, how their words fail, so that they can in no wise 
declare it. And particularly speak with exceeding ad- 
miration of the superlative excellency of that pleasure and 
delight of soul which they sometimes enjoy; how a little 
of it is sufficient to pay them for all the pains and trouble 
they have gone through in seeking salvation ; and how far 
it exceeds all earthly pleasures. And some express much 
of the sense which these spiritual views give them of the 
vanity of earthly enjoyments; how mean and worthless 
all these things appear to them. 

Many, while their minds have been filled with spiritual 
delights, have, as it were, forgot their food; their bodily 
appetite has failed, while their minds have been enter- 
tained with meat to eat that others knew not of. The 
light and comfort which some of them enjoy, gives a new 
relish to their common blessings, and causes all things 



A FAITHFUL NAKKATIVE 315 

about them to appear as it were beautiful, sweet, and 
pleasant to them. All things abroad, the sun, moon and 
stars, the clouds and sky, the heavens and earth, appear 
as it were with a cast of divine glory and sweetness upon 
them. The sweetest joy that these good people amongst 
us express, though it include in it a delightful sense of 
the safety of their own state, and that now they are out of 
danger of hell; yet frequently in times of their highest 
spiritual entertainment, this seems not to be the chief ob- 
ject of their fixed thought and meditation. The supreme 
attention of their minds is to the glorious excellencies of 
God and Christ, which they have in view; not but that 
•there is very often a ravishing sense of God's love accom- 
panying a sense of his excellency, and they rejoice in a 
sense of the faithfulness of God's promises, as they re- 
spect the future eternal enjoyment of God. 

The joy that many of them speak of, is that to which 
none is to be paralleled ; is that which they find when they 
are lowest in the dust, emptied most of themselves, and as 
it were annihilating themselves before God, when they are 
nothing, and God is all, are seeing their own unworthi- 
ness, depending not at all on themselves, but alone on 
Christ, and ascribing all glory to God. Then their souls 
are most in the enjoyment of satisfying rest; excepting, 
that at such times, they apprehend themselves to be not 
sufficiently self abased; for then above all times do they 
long to be lower. Some speak much of the exquisite 
sweetness, and rest of soul that is to be found in the ex- 
ercises of a spirit of resignation to God and humble sub- 
mission to his will. Many express earnest longings of 
soul to praise God; but at the same time complain they 
cannot praise him as they would do, and they want to 
have others help them in praising him. They want to 
have every one praise God, and are ready to call upon 
every thing to praise him. They express a longing desire 
to live to God's glory and to do something to his honor; 
but at the same time cry out of their insufficiency and 
barrenness, that they are poor impotent creatures, can do 
nothing of themselves and are utterly insufficient to 
glorify their Creator and Redeemer. 

While God was so remarkably present amongst us by 
his spirit, there was no book so delighted in as the Bible; 
especially the book of Psalms, the prophecy of Isaiah, 



816 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

and tlie New Testament. Some by reason of their esteem 
and love to God's word, have at some times been greatly 
and wonderfully delighted and affected at the sight of a 
Bible; and then also, there was no time so prized as the 
Lord's day, and no place in this world so desired as God's 
house. Our converts then appeared remarkably united in 
dear affection to one another, and many have expressed 
much of that spirit of love which they felt to all mankind ; 
and particularly to those that had been least friendly to 
them. Never, I believe, was so much done in confessing 
injuries, and making up differences as the last year. Per- 
sons after their own conversion, have commonly expressed 
an exceeding desire for the conversion of others. Some 
have thought that they should be willing to die for the 
conversion of any soul, though of one of the meanest of 
their fellow creatures, or of their worst enemies; and 
many have indeed been in great distress with desires and 
longings for it. This work of God had also a good effect 
to unite the people's affections much to their minister. 

There are some persons that I have been acquainted 
with, but more especially two, that belong to other towns, 
that have been swallowed up exceedingly with a sense of 
the awful greatness and majesty of God; and both of them 
told me to this purpose, that if they in the time of it, had 
had the least fear that they were not at peace with this so 
great a God, they should instantly have died. 

It is worthy to be remarked, that some persons by their 
conversion seem to be greatly helped as to their doctrinal 
notions of religion; it was particularly remarkable in one, 
who having been taken captive in his childhood, was 
trained up in Canada, in the Popish religion; and some 
years since returned to this his native place, and was in 
a measure brought off from Popery, but seemed very awk- 
ward and dull of receiving any true and clear notion of 
the Protestant scheme, till he was converted; and then 
he was remarkably altered in this respect. 

There is a vast difference, as has been observed, in 
the degree, and also in the particular manner of persons' 
experiences, both at and after conversion; some have 
grace working more sensibly in one way, others in an- 
other. Some speak more fully of a conviction of the jus- 
tice of God in their condemnation; others more of their 
consenting to the way of salvation by Christ; some more 



A FAITHFUL NAEKATIVE 317 

of the actings of love to God and Christ; some more of 
acts of affiance, in a sweet and assured conviction of the 
truth and faithfulness of God in his promises; others 
more of their choosing and resting in God as their whole 
and everlasting portion, and of their ardent and longing 
desires after God, to have communion with him; others 
more of their abhorrence of themselves for their past sins, 
and earnest longings to live to God's glory for the time 
to come ; some have their minds fixed more on God, others 
on Christ, as I have observed before, and am afraid of 
too much repetition; but it seems evidently to be the 
same work, the same thing done, the same habitual change 
wrought in the heart; it all tends the same way, and to 
the same end; and it is plainly the same spirit that 
breathes and acts in various persons. — There is an end- 
less variety in the particular manner and circumstances 
in which persons are wrought on, and an opportunity of 
seeing so much of such a work of God, will shew that God 
is further from confining himself to certain steps, and a 
particular method in his work on souls, than it may be 
some do imagine. I believe it has occasioned some good 
people amongst us, that were before too ready to make 
their own experiences a rule to others, to be less censori- 
ous and more extended in their charity, and this is an 
excellent advantage indeed. The work of God has been 
glorious in its variety, it has the more displayed the man- 
ifoldness and unsearchableness of the wisdom of God, 
and wrought more charity among his people. 

There is a great difference among those that are con- 
verted as to the degree of hope and satisfaction that they 
have concerning their own state. Some have a high de- 
gree of satisfaction in this matter, almost constantly. 
And yet it is rare that any do enjoy so full an assurance 
of their interest in Christ, that selfexamination should 
seem needless to them; unless it be at particular seasons, 
while in the actual enjoyment of some great discovery, 
that God gives of his glory, and rich grace in Christ, to 
have the drawing forth of extraordinary acts of grace. 
But the greater part, as they sometimes fall into dead 
frames of spirit, are frequently exercised with scruples and 
fears concerning their condition. 

They generally have an awful apprehension of the 
dreadfulness and undoing nature of a false hope; and 



318 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

there lias been observable in most a great caution, lest in 
giving an account of their experiences, they should sa^ 
too much, and use too strong terms. And many aftei 
they have related their experiences, have been greatly af- 
flicted with fears, lest they have played the hypocrite, and 
used stronger terms than their case would fairly allow of; 
and yet could not find how they could correct themselves. 

I think that the main ground of the doubts and fears 
that persons, after their conversion, have been exercised 
with about their own state, has been that they have found 
so much corruption remaining in their hearts. At first 
their souls seem to be all alive, their hearts are fixed, and 
their affections flowing; they seem to live quite above the 
world, and meet with but little difficulty in religious ex- 
ercises; and they are ready to think it will always be so. 
Though they are truly abased under a sense of their vile- 
ness by reason of former acts of sin, yet they are not then 
sufficiently sensible what corruption still remains in their 
hearts; and therefore are surprised when they find that 
they begin to be in dull and dead frames, to be troubled 
with wandering thoughts in the time of public and pri- 
vate worship, and to be utterly unable to keep themselves 
from them; also, when they find themselves unaffected at 
seasons in which, they think, there is the greatest occa- 
sion to be affected; and when they feel worldly disposi- 
tions working in them, and it may be pride, and envy, and 
stirrings of revenge, or some ill spirit towards some per- 
son that has injured them, as well as other workings of 
indwelling sin. Their hearts are almost sunk with the 
disappointment; and they are ready presently to think 
that all this they have met with is nothing, and that they 
are mere hypocrites. 

They are ready to argue, that if God had indeed done 
such great things for them, as they hoped, such ingratitude 
would be inconsistent with it. They cry out of the hard- 
ness and wickedness of their hearts; and say there is so 
much corruption, that it seems to them impossible that 
there should be any goodness there. And many of them 
seem to be much more sensible how corrupt their hearts 
are, than ever they were before they were converted; and 
some have been too ready to be impressed with fear, that 
instead of becoming better, they are grown much worse, 
and make it an argument against the goodness of their 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE 319 

state. But in truth, the case seems plainly to be, that 
now they feel the pain of their own wound; they have a 
watchful eye upon their hearts that they do not use to 
have. They take more notice what sin is there, and sin 
is now more burdensome to them ; they strive more against 
it and feel more of the strength of it. 

They are somewhat surprised that they should in this 
respect, find themselves so different from the idea that 
they generally had entertained of godly persons; for 
though grace be indeed of a far more excellent nature 
than they imagined, yet those that are godly have much 
less of it, and much more remaining corruption, than they 
thought. They never realized it, that persons were wont 
to meet with such difficulties, after they were once con- 
verted. When they are thus exercised with doubts about 
their state through the deadness of their frames of spirit, 
as long as these frames last, they are commonly unable to 
satisfy themselves of the truth of their grace by all their 
self examination. When they hear of the signs of grace, 
laid down for them to try themselves by, they are often so 
clouded, that they do not know how to apply them. They 
hardly know whether they have such and such things in 
them or no, and whether they have experienced them or 
not. That which was sweetest and best, and most distin- 
guishing in their experiences, they cannot recover a sense 
or idea of. But on a return of the influences of the spirit 
of God, to revive the lively actings of grace, the light 
breaks through the cloud, and doubting and darkness soon 
vanish away. 

Persons are often revived out of their dead and dark 
frames, by religious conversation; while they are talking 
of divine things, or ever they are aware, their souls are 
carried away into holy exercises with abundant pleasure. 
And oftentimes, while they are relating their past experi- 
ences to their Christian brethren, they have a fresh sense 
of them revived, and the same experiences in a degree, 
again renewed. Sometimes while persons are exercised in 
mind with several objections against the goodness of 
their state, they have scriptures one after another, coming 
to their minds, to answer their scruples and unravel their 
difficulties, exceeding apposite and proper to their circum- 
stances; by which means their darkness is scattered; and 
often before the bestowment of any new remarkable com- 



320 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

forts, especially after long continued deadness and ill 
frames, there are renewed humblings, in a great sense of 
their own exceeding vileness and unworthiness, as before 
their first comforts were bestowed. 

Many in the country have entertained a mean thought 
of this great work that there has been amongst us, from 
what they have heard of impressions that have been made 
on persons' imaginations. But there have been exceeding 
great misrepresentations, and innumerable false reports 
concerning that matter. It is not, that I know of, the 
profession or opinion of any one person in the town, that 
any weight is to be laid on any thing seen with the bodily 
eye. I know the contrary to be a received and established 
principle amongst us. I cannot say that there have been 
no instances of persons that have been ready to give too 
much heed to vain and useless imagination, but they have 
been easily corrected, and I conclude it will not be won- 
dered at, that a congregation should need a guide in such 
cases, to assist them in distinguishing wheat from chaff. 
But such impressions on the imagination as have been 
more usual, seem to me to be no other than what is to be 
expected in human nature in such circumstances, and 
what is the natural result of the strong exercise of the 
mind, and impressions on the heart. 

I do not suppose that they themselves imagined that 
they saw any thing with their bodily eyes; but only have 
had within them ideas strongly impressed, and as it were, 
lively pictures in their minds. As, for instance, some 
when in great terrors, through fear of hell, have had 
lively ideas of a dreadful furnace. Some when their 
hearts have been strongly impressed, and their affections 
greatly moved with a sense of the beauty and excellency 
of Christ, it has wrought on their imagination so, that 
together with a sense of his glorious spiritual perfections, 
there has risen in the mind an idea of one of glorious 
majesty, and of a sweet and gracious aspect. — So some, 
when they have been greatly affected with Christ's death 
have at the same time a lively idea of Christ hanging 
upon the cross, and of his blood running from his wounds ; 
which things will not be wondered at by them that have 
observed how strong affections about temporal matters 
will excite lively ideas and pictures of different things in 
the mind. 



A FAITHFUL NAKRATIYE 321 

But yet the vigorous exercise of the mind does doubt- 
less more strongly impress it with imaginary ideas in 
some than others, which probably may arise from the 
difference of constitution, and seems evidently in some, 
partly to arise from their peculiar circumstances. When 
persons have been exercised with extreme terrors, and 
there is a sudden change to light and joy, the imagina- 
tion seems more susceptive of strong ideas, and the in- 
ferior powers, and even the frame of the body, is much 
more affected and wrought upon, than when the same per- 
sons have as great spiritual light and joy afterwards; of 
which it might, perhaps, be easy to give a reason. The 
forementioned Rev. Messrs. Lord and Owen, who, I be- 
lieve, are esteemed persons of learning and discretion 
where they are best known, declared that they found these 
impressions on persons' imaginations, quite different 
things from what fame had before represented to them, 
and that they were what none need to wonder at, or be 
stumbled by, or to that purpose. 

There have indeed been some few instances, of impres- 
sions on persons' imaginations, that have been something 
mysterious to me, and I have been at a loss about them; 
for though it has been exceeding evident to me, by many 
things that appeared in them, both then (when they re- 
lated them) and afterwards, that they indeed had a great 
sense of the spiritual excellency of divine things accom- 
panying them; yet I have not been able well to satisfy 
myself whether their imaginary ideas have been more 
than could naturally arise from their spiritual sense of 
things. However, I have used the utmost caution in such 
cases; great care has been taken both in public and in 
private, to teach persons the difference between what is 
spiritual, and what is merely imaginary. I have often 
warned persons not to lay the stress of their hope on any 
ideas of any outward glory, or any external thing whatso- 
ever, and have met with no opposition in such instruc- 
tions. But it is not strange if some weaker persons, in 
giving an account of their experiences, have not so pru- 
dently distinguished between the spiritual and imaginary 
part; which some, that have not been well affected to re- 
ligion, might take advantage of. 

There has been much talk in many parts of the country, 
as though the people had symbolized with the Quakers, 



322 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

and the Quakers themselves have been moved with such 
reports, and came here once and again hoping to find 
good waters to fish in; but without the least success, and 
seem to be discouraged, and have left off coming. There 
have also been reports spread about the country, as though 
the first occasion of so remarkable a concern on people's 
minds here, was an apprehension that the world was near 
to an end, which was altogether a false report. Indeed 
after this stirring and concern became so general and 
extraordinary, as has been related, the minds of some 
were filled with speculation, what so great a dispensation 
of divine providence might forbode; and some reports 
were heard from abroad, as though certain divines and 
others, thought the conflagration was nigh. But such 
reports were never generally looked upon as worthy of 
notice. 

The work that has now been wrought on souls, is evi- 
dently the same that was wrought in my venerable prede- 
cessor's days; as I have had abundant opportunity to 
know, having been in the ministry here two years with 
him, and so conversed with a considerable number that 
my grandfather thought to be savingly converted in that 
time; and having been particularly acquainted with the 
experiences of many that were converted under his min- 
istry before. And I know no one of them that in the 
least doubts of its being the same spirit, and the same 
work. Persons have now no otherwise been subject to 
impressions on their imagination than formerly. The 
work is of the same nature, and has not been attended 
with any extraordinary circumstances, excepting such as 
are analogous to the extraordinary degree of it before de- 
scribed. And God's people that were formerly converted^ 
have now partook of the same shower of divine blessing, 
in the renewing, strengthening, edifying influences of the 
Spirit of God, that others have in his converting influ- 
ences; and the work here has also been plainly the same 
with that which has been wrought in those of other places 
that have been mentioned, as partaking of the same bless- 
ing. I have particularly conversed with persons about 
their experiences, that belong to all parts of the county, 
and in various parts of Connecticut, where a religious 
concern has lately appeared; and have been informed of 
the experiences of many others by their own pastors. 



A TAITHFUL NAERATIVE 323 

^ It IS easily perceived by the foregoing account, that it 
IS very much the practice of the people here to converse 
freely one with another of their spiritual experiences, 
which is a thing that many have been disgusted at. But 
however our people may have, in some respects, gone to 
extremes in it, yet it is doubtless a practice that the cir- 
cumstances of this town, and neig^hbouring towns, have 
naturally led them into. Whatsoever people are in such 
circumstances, where all have their minds engaged to such 
a degree, in the same affair, that it is ever uppermost in 
their thoughts, they will naturally make it the subject of 
their conversation one with another when they get to- 
gether, in which they will grow more and more free. Ee- 
stramts will soon vanish, and they will not conceal from 
one another what they meet with. And it has been a 
practice, which, in the general, has been attended with 
many good effects, and what God has greatly blessed 
amongst us. But it must be confessed, there may have 
been some ill consequences of it, which yet are rather to 
be laid to the indiscreet management of it, than to the 
practice itself; and none can wonder, if, among such a 
multitude, some fail of exercising so much prudence in 
choosing the time, manner and occasion of such discourse 
as IS desirable. " ' 

But to give a clearer idea of the nature and manner of 
the operations of God's spirit, in this wonderful effusion 
ot It, 1 would give an account of two particular instances, 
hrst IS an adult person, a young woman whose name 
was Abigail Hutchinson. I pitch upon her especially, 
because she is now dead, and so it may be more fit to 
speak freely of her than of living instances; though I 
am under far greater disadvantages on other accounts, to 
give a full and clear narrative of her experiences, than I 
^^^^^1,^^ ^^^^ others, nor can any account be given but 
what has been retained in the memories of her near 
friends and some others, of what they have heard her 
express in her life time. 

S^^ was of a rational, understanding family; there 
could be nothing in her education that tended t<) enthu- 
siasm, but rather to the contrary extreme. It is in no 
wise the temper of the family to be ostentatious of ex- 
periences, and it was far from being her temper. She 
was, before her conversion, to the observation of her 



324 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

neighbors, of a sober and inoffensive conversation, and 
was a still, quiet, reserved person. She had long been 
infirm of body, but her infirmity had never been observed 
at all to incline her to be notional or fanciful, or to occa- 
sion any thing of religious melancholly. She was under 
awakenings scarcely a week, before there seemed to be 
plain evidence of her being savingly converted. 

She was first awakened in the winter season, on Monday, 
by something she heard her brother say of the necessity of 
being in good earnest in seeking regenerating grace, to- 
gether with the news of the conversion of the young 
woman before mentioned, whose conversion so generally 
affected most of the young people here. This news 
wrought much upon her, and stirred up a spirit of envy 
in her towards this young woman, whom she thought very 
unworthy of being distinguished from others by such a 
mercy, but withal it engaged her in a firm resolution to 
do her utmost to obtain the same blessing; and, consider- 
ing with herself what course she should take, she thought 
that she had not a sufficient knowledge of the principles 
of religion to render her capable of conversion; where- 
upon she resolved thoroughly to search the scriptures, and 
accordingly immediately began at the beginning of the 
Bible, intending to read it through. — She continued thus 
till Thursday, and then there was a sudden alteration, by 
a great increase of her concern, in an extraordinary sense 
of her own sinfulness, particularly the sinfulness of her 
nature, and wickedness of her heart, which came upon her 
(as she expressed it) as a flash of lightning, and struck 
her into an exceeding terror. Upon which she left off 
reading the Bible in course as she had begun, and turned 
to the New Testament, to see if she could not find some 
relief there for her distressed soul. 

Her great terror, she said, was that she had sinned 
against God. Her distress grew more and more for three 
days, until (as she said) she saw nothing but blackness of 
darkness before her, and her very flesh trembled for fear 
of God's wrath; she wondered and was astonished at 
herself that she had been so concerned for her body, and 
had applied so often to physicians to heal that, and had 
neglected her soul. Her sinfulness appeared with a very 
awful aspect to her, especially in three things, viz. her 
original sin, and her sin in murmuring at God's provi- 



A FAITHFUL NAEKATIVE 325 

dence, in the weakness and afflictions she had been under, 
and in want of duty to parents, though others had looked 
upon her to excel in dutifulness. On Saturday she was so 
earnestly engaged in reading the Bible, and other books, 
that she continued in it, searching for something to re- 
lieve her, till her eyes were so dim, that she could not 
know the letters. Whilst she was thus engaged in read- 
ing, prayer, and other religious exercises, she thought of 
those words of Christ, wherein he warns us not to be as 
the heathen, that think they shall be heard for their much 
speaking; which, she said, led her to see that she had 
trusted to her own prayers and religious performances, 
and now she was put to a nonplus, and knew not which 
way to turn herself, or where to seek relief. 

While her mind was in this posture, her heart, she said, 
seemed to fly to the minister for refuge, hoping that he 
could give her some relief. She came the same day, to 
her brother, with a countenance of a person in distress, 
expostulating with him, why he had not told her more of 
her sinfulness, and earnestly inquiring of him, what she 
should do. She seemed, that day, to feel in herself an 
enmity against the Bible, which greatly affrighted her. 
Her sense of her own exceeding sinfulness continued in- 
creasing from Thursday till Monday, and she gave this 
account of it, that it had been an opinion, which, till now 
she had entertained, "that she was not guilty of Adam's 
sin, nor any way concerned in it, because she was not 
active in it ; but that now she saw she was guilty of that 
sin, and all over defiled by it, and that the sin which she 
brought into the world with her was alone sufficient to 
condemn her. 

On the Sabbath day she was so ill that her friends 
thought it not best that she should go to public worship, 
of which she seemed very desirous; but when she went to 
bed on the Sabbath day night, she took up a resolution 
that she would, the next morning, go to the minister, 
hoping to find some relief there. As she awaked on Mon- 
day morning a little before day, she wondered within 
herself at the easiness and calmness she felt in her mind, 
which was of that kind which she never felt before; as 
she thought of this, such words as these were in her mind ; 
the words of the Lord are pure words, health to the soul, 
and marrow to the bones; and then these words came to 



326 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

lier mind — ^the blood of Christ cleanses from all sin; 
which were accompanied with a lively sense of the excel- 
lency of Christ, and his sufficiency to satisfy for the sins 
of the whole world. She then thought of that expression 
— it is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun — 
which words then seemed to her to be very applicable to 
Jesus Christ. By these things her mind was led into 
such contemplations and views of Christ, as filled her 
exceeding full of joy. She told her brother in the morn- 
ing that she had seen [i. e. in realizing views of faith] 
Christ the last night, and that she had really thought that 
she had not knowledge enough to be converted; but, said 
she, God can make it quite easy! On Monday she felt 
all day a constant sweetness in her soul. She had a repe- 
tition of the same discoveries of Christ three mornings 
together, that she had on Monday morning, and much the 
same manner, at each time, waking a little before day, but 
brighter and brighter every time. 

At the last time, on Wednesday morning, while in the 
enjoyment of a spiritual view of Christ's glory and full- 
ness, her soul was filled with distress for Christless per- 
sons, to consider what a miserable condition they were in ; 
and she felt in herself a strong inclination immediately to 
go forth to warn sinners, and proposed it the- next day to 
her brother to assist her in going from house to house, but 
her brother restrained her, telling her of the unsuitableness 
of such a method. She told one of her sisters that day, 
that she loved all mankind, but especially the people of 
God. Her sister asked her why she loved all mankind? 
She replied, because God had made them. After this 
there happened to come into the shop where she was at 
work, three persons that were thought to have been lately 
converted; her seeing them as they stepped in one after 
another into the door, so affected her, and so drew forth 
her love to them, that it overcame her, and she almost 
fainted. And when they began to talk of the things of 
religion, it was more than she could bear — ^they were 
obliged to cease on that account. It was a very frequent 
thing with her to be overcome with a flow of affection to 
them that she thought godly, in conversation with them, 
and sometimes only at the sight of them. 

She had many extraordinary discoveries of the glory of 
God and Christ; sometimes in some particular attributes. 



A FAITHFUL NAKKATIYE 327 

and sometimes in many. She gave an account, that once, 
as those four words passed through her mind, wisdom, 
JUSTICE, GOODNESS and TRUTH, her soul was filled with a 
sense of the glory of each of these divine attributes, but 
especially the last. Truth, she said, sunk the deepest! 
and, therefore, as these words passed, this was repeated, 
truth! truth! Her mind was so swallowed up with a 
sense of the glory of God's truth and other perfections, 
that she said, it seemed as though her life was going, and 
that she saw it was easy with God to take away her life 
by discoveries of himself. — Soon after this she went to a 
private religious meeting, and her mind was full of a sense 
and view of the glory of God all the time; and when the 
exercise was ended, some asked her concerning what she 
had experienced; and she began to give them an account, 
but as she was relating it, it revived such a sense of the 
same things, that her strength failed, and they were 
obliged to take her and lay her upon the bed. Afterwards 
she was greatly affected, and rejoiced with these words, 
worthy is the lamb that was slain. 

She had several days together a sweet sense of the ex- 
cellency and loveliness of Christ in his meekness, which 
disposed her continually to be repeating over these words, 
which were sweet to her, meek and lowly in heart, meek 
AND LOWLY IN HEART. She once expressed herself to one 
of her sisters to this purpose, that she had continued whole 
days and whole nights, in a constant ravishing view of the 
glory of God and Christ, having enjoyed as much as her 
life could bear. Once as her brother was speaking of the 
dying love of Christ, she told him that she had such a 
sense of it, that the mere mentioning it was ready to over- 
come her. 

Once, when she came to me, she told how that at such 
and such a time she thought she saw as much of God, and 
had as much joy and pleasure as was possible in this life, 
and that yet afterwards God discovered himself yet far 
more abundantly, and she saw the same things that she 
had seen before, yet more clearly, and in another and far 
more excellent and delightful manner, and was filled with 
a more exceeding sweetness. She likewise gave me such an 
account of the sense she once had from day to day of the 
glory of Christ, and of God, in his various attributes, that 
it seemed to me she dwelt for days together, in a kind of 



328 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

beatific vision of God, and seemed to have, as I thought, 
as immediate an intercourse with him, as a child with a 
father; and at the same time she appeared most remote 
fj'om any high thought of herself, and of her own suffi- 
ciency, but was like a little child, and expressed a great 
desire to be instructed, telling me that she longed very 
often to come to me for instruction; and wanted to live 
at my house, that I might tell her her duty. 

She often expressed a sense of the glory of God ap- 
peariitg in the trees and growth of the fields, and othei 
works of God's hands. She told her sister that lived near 
the heart of the town, that she once thought it a pleasant 
thing to live in the middle of the town, but now, says she, 
I think it much more pleasant to sit and see the wind 
blowing the trees, and to behold in the country what God 
has made. She had sometimes the powerful breathings of 
the spirit of God on her soul, while reading the scripture, 
and would express a sense that she had of the certain truth 
and divinity thereof. She sometimes would appear with 
a pleasant smile on her countenance, and once when her 
sister took notice of it and asked why she smiled, she 
replied, I am brimful of a sweet feeling within! She 
often used to express how good and sweet it was to lie low 
before God, and the lower, says she, the better ! And that 
it was pleasant to think of lying in the dust all the days 
of her life, mourning for sin. She was wont to manifest 
a great sense of her own meanness and dependence. She 
often expressed an exceeding compassion, and pitiful love, 
which she found in her heart towards persons in a Christ- 
less condition, which was sometimes so strong, that as she 
was passing by such in the streets, or those that she feared 
were such, she would be overcome by the sight of them. 
She once said, that she longed to have the whole world 
saved — she wanted, as it were, to pull them all to her — 
she could not bear to have one lost. 

She had great longings to die, that she might be with 
Christ, which increased till she thought she did not know 
how to be patient to wait till God's time should come. — 
But once, when she felt those longings, she thought, with- 
in herself, if I long to die, why do I go to physicians? 
Whence she concluded that her longings for death were 
not well regulated. After this she often put it to herself 
which she should choose, whether to live or to die, to be 



A FAITHFUL NAKKATIVE 329 

sick or to be well, and she found she could not tell, till 
at last she found herself disposed to say these words — I 
am quite willing to live, and quite willing to die — quite 
willing to be sick, and quite willing to be well; and quite 
willing for any thing that God will bring upon me! And 
then, said she, I felt myself perfectly easy, in a full sub- 
mission to the will of God. She then lamented much, 
that she had been so eager in her longings for death, as it 
argued want of such a resignation to God as ought to be. 
She seemed henceforward to continue in this resigned 
frame till death. 

After this her illness increased upon her; and once, 
after she had before spent the greater part of the night in 
extreme pain, she awaked out of a little sleep with these 
words in her heart and mouth — ^I am willing to suffer for 
Christ's sake — ^I am willing to spend and be spent for 
Christ's sake — ^I am willing to spend my life, even my very 
life for Christ's sake! And though she had an extraordi- 
nary resignation, with respect to life or death, yet the 
thoughts of dying were exceedingly sweet to her. At a 
time when her brother was reading in Job, concerning 
worms feeding on the dead body, she appeared with a 
pleasant smile, and being inquired of about it, she said, 
it was sweet to her to think of her being in such circum- 
stances. At another time, when her brother mentioned to 
her the danger there seemed to be that the illness she 
then labored under, might be an occasion of her death, it 
filled her with joy that almost overcome her. At another 
time, when she met a company following a corpse to the 
grave, she said, it was sweet to her to think, that they 
would in a little time follow her in like manner. 

Her illness, in the latter part of it, was seated much in 
her throat, and swelling inward filled up the pipe, so that 
she could swallow nothing but what was perfectly liquid, 
and but very little of that, and with great and long strug- 
glings and stranglings, that which she took in, flying out 
of her nostrils, till she at last could swallow nothing at all. 
She had a raging appetite to food, so that she told her 
sister, when talking with her about her circumstances, 
that the worst bit she threw to her swine would be sweet 
to her; but yet when she saw that she could not swallow 
it, she seemed to be as perfectly contented without it as 
if she had no appetite to it. Others were greatly moved 



330 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

to see what she underwent, and were filled with admiration 
at her unexampled patience. At a time, when she was 
striving in vain to get down a little food, something liquid, 
and was very much spent with it, she looked upon her sis- 
ter with a smile, saying, O sister, this is for my good! 
At another time, when her sister was speaking of what 
she underwent, she told her, that she lived an heaven upon 
earth for all that. She used sometimes to say to her sis- 
ter, under her extreme sufferings : It is good to be so ! 
Her sister once asked her, why she said so? Why, says 
she, because God would have it so : It is best that things 
should be as God would have them. It looks best to me. 
After her confinement, as they were leading her from the 
bed to the door, she seemed overcome by the sight of things 
abroad, as shewing forth the glory of the Being that had 
made them. As she lay on her death bed, she would often 
say these words; God is my friend! And once looking 
upon her sister, with a smile, said, O sister! How good 
it is! How sweet and comfortable it is to consider, and 
think of heavenly things! And used this argument to 
persuade her sister to be much in such meditations. 

She expressed, on her death bed, an exceeding longing, 
both for persons in a natural state, that they might be 
converted, and for the godly that they might see and 
know more of God. And when those that looked on them- 
selves as in a Christless state came to see her, she would 
be greatly moved with compassionate affection. One, in 
particular, that seemed to be in great distress about the 
state of her soul, and had come to see her from time to 
time, she desired her sister to persuade not to come any 
more, because the sight of her so wrought on her com- 
passions, that it overcome her nature. The same week 
that she died, when she was in distressing circumstances 
as to her body, some of the neighbors that came to see her, 
asked if she was willing to die ? She replied that she was 
quite willing either to live or die; she was willing to be 
in pain; she was willing to be so always as she was then, 
if that was the will of God. She willed what God willed. 
They asked her whether she was willing to die that night ? 
She answered, yes, if it be God's will; and seemed to 
speak all with that perfect composure of spirit, and with 
such a cheerful and pleasant countenance, that it filled 
them with admiration. 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE * 331 

She was very weak a considerable time before she died 
having pmed away with famine and thirst, so that her 
liesh seemed to be dried upon her bones, and therefore 
could say but little, and manifested her mind very much 
by signs. She said she had matter enough to fill up all 
her time with talk, if she had but strength. A few days 
before her death, some asked her whether she held her in- 
tegrity still ? Whether she was not afraid of death « She 
answered to this purpose, that she had not the least de- 
gree of fear of death. They asked her why she would be 
60 confident ? She answered, if I should say otherwise, 
1 should speak contrary to what I know; there is, says 
she, indeed a dark entry, that looks something dark, but 
on the other side there appears such a bright shining light 
that I cannot be afraid! She said, not long before she 
died, that she used to be afraid how she should grapple 
with death; but, says she, God has shewed me that he can 
make it easy m great pain. Several days before she died 
she could scarcely say anything but just yes and no, to 
questions that were asked her, for she seemed to be dying 
lor three days together; but seemed to continue in an ad- 
mirable sweet composure of soul, without any interrup- 
tion, to the last, and died as a person, that went to sleep, 
without any struggling, about noon, on Friday, June 27 
1735. ' 

She had long been infirm, and often had been exercised 
with great pam; but she died chiefly of famine. It was 
doubtless, partly owing to her bodily weakness, that her 
nature was so often overcome, and ready to sink with 
gracious affection; but yet the truth was, that she had 
more grace, and greater discoveries of God and Christ, 
than the present frail state did well consist with. She 
wanted to be where strong grace might have more liberty, 
and be without the clog of a weak body; there she longed 
to be, and there she doubtless now is. She was looked 
upon amongst us as a very eminent instance of Christian 
experience; but this is but a very broken and imperfect 
account I have given of her. Her eminency would much 
more appear, if her experiences were fully related, as she 
was wont to^ express and manifest them while living. I 
once read this account to some of her pious neighbors, who 
were acquainted with her, who said to this purpose, that 
the picture fell much short of the life, and particularly 



332 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

that it mucli failed of duly representing her humility, and 
that admirable lowliness of heart, that at all times ajv- 
peared in her. But there are, (blessed be God!) many 
living instances of much the like nature, and in many 
things no less extraordinary. 

But I now proceed to the other instance that I would 
give an account of, which is of the little child foremen- 
tioned. Her name is Phebe Bartlet, daughter of William 
Bartlet. I shall give the account as I took it from the 
mouths of her parents, whose veracity, none that know 
them doubt. 

She was born in March, in the year 1731. About the 
latter end of April, or beginning of May, 1735, she was 
greatly affected by the talk of her brother, who had been 
hopefully converted a little before, at about eleven years 
of age, and then seriously talked to her about the great 
things of religion. Her parents did not know of it at that 
time, and were not wont, in the counsels they gave to 
their children, particularly to direct themselves to her, by 
reason of her being so young, and, as they supposed not 
capable of understanding ; but after her brother had talked 
to her, they observed her very earnestly to listen to the 
advice they gave to the other children, and she was ob- 
served very constantly to retire, several times in a day, 
as was concluded, for secret prayer, and grew more and 
more engaged in religion, and was more frequent in her 
closet, till at last she was wont to visit it five or six times 
in a day, and was so engaged in it, that nothing would, at 
any time, divert her from her stated closet exercises. Her 
mother often observed and watched her, when such things 
occurred, as she thought most likely to divert her, either 
by putting it out of her thoughts, or otherwise engaging 
her inclinations, but never could observe her to fail. She 
mentioned some very remarkable instances. 

She once, of her own accord, spake of her unsuccessful- 
ness, in that she could not find God, or to that purpose. 
But on Thursday, the last day of July, about the middle 
of the day, the child being in the closet, where it used to 
retire, its mother heard it speaking aloud, which was un- 
usual, and never had been observed before ; and her voice 
seemed to be as of one exceeding importunate and en- 
gaged, but her mother could distinctly hear only these 
words, (spoken in her childish manner, but seemed to be 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE 333 

spoken with extraordinary earnestness, and out of dis- 
tress of soul) Pray blessed lord give me salvation! I 
PRAY, BEG pardon all my sins! When the child had done 
prayer, she came out of the closet, and came and sat down 
by her mgther, and cried out aloud. Her mother very 
earnestly asked her several times, what the matter was, 
before she would make any answer, but she continued ex- 
ceedingly crying, and wreathing her body to and fro, like 
one in anguish of spirit. Her mother then asked her 
whether she was afraid that God would not give her salva- 
tion. She then answered yes, I am afraid I shall go to 
hell! Her mother then endeavored to quiet her, and told 
her she would not have her cry, she must be a good girl, 
and pray every day, and she hoped God would give her 
salvation. But this did not quiet her at all — ^but she 
continued thus earnestly crying and taking on for some 
time, till at length she suddenly ceased crying and began 
to smile, and presently said with a smiling countenance. 
Mother, the kingdom of heaven is come to me! Her 
mother was surprised at the sudden alteration, and at 
the speech, and knew not what to make of it, but at first 
said nothing to her. The child presently spake again, 
and said, there is another come to me, and there is an- 
other, there is three ; and being asked what she meant, she 
answered. One is thy will be done; and there is another, 
enjoy him forever; by which it seems that when the child 
said there is three come to me, she meant three passages 
of its catechism that came to her mind. 

After the child had said this, she retired again into 
her closet ; and her mother went over to her brother's, who 
was next neighbor; and when she came back, the child 
being come out of the closet, meets her mother with this 
cheering speech ; I can find God now ! Referring to what 
she had before complained of, that she could not find God. 
Then the child spoke again, and said, I love God! Her 
mother asked her how well she loved God, whether she 
loved God better than her father and mother; she said, 
yes. Then she asked her whether she loved God better 
than her little sister Rachel, she answered yes, better than 
any thing! Then her eldest sister, referring to her saying 
she could find God now, asked her where she could find 
God; she answered, in heaven. Why, said she, have you 
been in heaven? No, said the child. By this it seems 



834 JONATHAN EDWARDS 

not to have been any imagination of any thing seen with 
bodily eyes that she called God, when she said I can find 
God now. Her mother asked her whether she was afraid 
of going to hell, and that had made her cry. She an- 
swered, yes, I was ; but now I shall not. Her mother asked 
her whether she thought that God had given her salva- 
tion ; she answered yes. Her mother asked her, when ; she 
answered, to day. She appeared all that afternoon ex- 
ceeding cheerful and joyful. One of the neighbors asked 
her how she felt herself ? She answered, I feel better than 
I did. The neighbor asked her what made her feel bet- 
ter; she answered, God makes me. That evening as she 
lay a bed, she called one of her little cousins to her, that 
was present in the room, as having something to say to 
him; and when he came, she told him that heaven was 
better than earth. The next day being Friday, her mother 
asking her her catechism, asked her what God made her 
for; she answered, to serve him; and added, every body 
should serve God, and get an interest in Christ. 

The same day the elder children, when they came home 
from school, seemed much affected with the extraordinary 
change that seemed to be made in Phebe; and her sister 
Abigail standing by, her mother took occasion to counsel 
her, now to improve her time, to prepare for another 
world; on which Phebe burst out in tears, and cried out, 
poor Nabby! Her mother told her, she would not have 
her cry, she hoped that God would give Nabby salvation; 
but that did not quiet her, but she continued earnestly 
crying for some time; and when she had in a measure 
ceased, her sister Eunice being by her, she burst out again, 
and cried, poor Eunice! and cried exceedingly; and when 
she had almost done, she went into another room, and 
there looked upon her sister Naomi, and burst out again, 
crying poor Amy! Her mother was greatly affected at 
such behaviour in the child, and knew not what to say to 
her. One of the neighbors coming in a little after, asked 
her what she had cried for. She seemed, at first, back- 
ward to tell the reason. Her mother told her she might 
tell that person, for he had given her an apple; upon 
which she said, she cried because she was afraid they 
would go to hell. 

At night a certain minister, that was occasionally in the 
town, was at the house, and talked considerably with her 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIYE 335 

of the things of religion; and after he was gone, she sat 
leaning on the table, with tears running out of her eyes; 
and being asked what made her cry, she said it was think- 
ing about God. The next day being Saturday, she seemed 
great part of the day to be in a very affectionate frame, 
had four turns of crying, and seemed to endeavor to curb 
herself, and hide her tears, and was very backward to 
talk of the occasion of it. On the sabbath day she was 
asked whether she believed in God; she answered yes. 
And being told that Christ was the Son of God, she made 
ready answer, and said, I know it. 

From this time there has appeared a very remarkable 
abiding change in the child. She has been very strict 
upon the Sabbath, and seems to long for the sabbath day 
before it comes, and will often in the week time be in- 
quiring how long it is to the sabbath day, and must have 
the days particularly counted over that are between, be- 
fore she will be contented. And she seems to love God's 
house — is very eager to go thither. Her mother once 
asked her why she had such a mind to go? Whether it 
was not to see the fine folks ? She said no, it was to hear 
Mr. Edwards preach. When she is in the place of wor- 
ship, she is very far from spending her time there as chil- 
dren at her age usually do, but appears with an attention 
that is very extraordinary for such a child. She also 
appears very desirous at all opportunities, to go to pri- 
vate religious meetings, and is very still and attentive at 
home, in prayer time, and has appeared affected in time of 
family prayer. She seems to delight much in hearing re- 
ligious conversation. When I once was there with some 
others that were strangers, and talked to her something of 
religion, she seemed more than ordinarily attentive; and 
when we were gone, she looked out very wistfully after us, 
and said — I wish they would come again! Her mother 
asked her why. Said she, I love to hear them talk! 

She seems to have very much of the fear of God before 
her eyes, and an extraordinary dread of sin against him; 
of which her mother mentioned the following remarkable 
instance. Some time in August, the last year, she went 
with some larger children, to get some plumbs, in a neigh- 
bor's lot, knowing nothing of any harm in what she did; 
but when she brought some of the plumbs into the house, 
her mother mildly reproved her, and told her that she 



336 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

must not get plumbs without leave, because it was sin. 
God liad commanded her not to steal. The child seemed 
greatly surprised, and burst out into tears, and cried out 
— ^I will not have these plumbs! And turning to her 
sister Eunice, very earnestly said to her — why did you ask 
me to go to that plumb tree? I should not have gone if 
you had not asked me. The other children did not seem 
to be much affected or concerned; but there was no paci- 
fying Phebe. Her mother told her she might go and ask 
leave, and then it would not be sin for her to eat them, 
and sent one of the children to that end; and when she 
returned, her mother told her that the owner had given 
leave, now she might eat them, and it would not be steal- 
ing. This stilled her a little while, but presently she 
broke out again into an exceeding fit of crying. Her 
mother asked her what made her cry again? Why she 
cried now, since they had asked leave? What it was that 
troubled her now? And asked her several times very 
earnestly, before she made any answer; but at last, said 
it was because — ^because it was sin. She continued a 
considerable time crying ; and said she would not go again 
if Eunice asked her an hundred times; and she retained 
her aversion to that fruit for a considerable time, under 
the remembrance of her former sin. 

She, at some times, appears greatly affected and de- 
lighted with texts of scripture that come to her mind. 
Particularly, about the beginning of November, the last 
year, that text came to her mind, Eev. iii. 20. Behold I 
stand at the door and hnoch. If any man hear my voice, 
and open the door, I will come in, and sup with him and 
he with me. She spoke of it to those of the family, with 
a great appearance of joy, a smiling countenance, and ele- 
vation of voice, and afterwards she went into another 
room, where her mother overheard her talking very ear- 
nestly to the children about it, and particularly heard her 
say to them, three or four times over, with an air of ex- 
ceeding joy and admiration — Why it is to SUP with God. 
At some time about the middle of winter, very late in 
the night, when all were in bed, her mother perceived 
that she was awake, and heard her as though she was weep- 
ing. She called to her, and asked her what was the mat- 
ter. She answered with a low voice, so that her mother 
could not hear what she said; but thinking it might be 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE 337 

occasioned by some spiritual affection, said no more to 
her ; but perceived her to lie awake, and to continue in the 
same frame for a considerable time. The next morning 
she asked her whether she did not cry the last night. The 
child answered yes, I did cry a little, for I was thinking 
about God and Christ, and they loved me. Her mother 
asked her, whether to think of God and Christ's loving 
her made her cry. She answered yes, it does sometimes. 

She has often manifested a great concern for the good 
of other souls; and has been wont, many times, affec- 
tionately to counsel the other children. Once about the 
latter end of September, the last year, when she and some 
others of the children were in a room by themselves husk- 
ing Indian corn, the child, after a while, came out and 
sat by the fire. Her mother took notice that she ap- 
peared with a more than ordinary serious and pensive 
countenance, but at last she broke silence, and said, I 
have been talking to Nabby and Eunice. Her mother 
asked her what she had said to them. Why, said she, I 
told them they must pray, and prepare to die, that they 
had but a little while to live in this world, and they must 
be always ready. When Nabby came out, her mother 
asked her whether she had said that to them. Yes, said 
she, she said that and a great deal more. At other times 
the child took her opportunities to talk to the other chil- 
dren about the great concern of their souls; sometimes 
so as much to affect them, and set them into tears. She 
was once exceeding importunate with her mother to go 
with her sister Naomi to pray. Her mother endeavored 
to put her off, but she pulled her by the sleeve, and seemed 
as if she would by no means be denied. At last her 
mother told her, that Amy must go and pray herself; but, 
says the child, she will not go, and persisted earnestly to 
beg of her mother to go with her. 

' She has discovered an uncommon degree of a spirit 
of charity, particularly on the following occasion. A 
poor man that lives in the woods, had lately lost a cow 
that the family much depended on, and being at the house, 
he was relating his misfortune, and telling of the straits 
and difficulties they were reduced to by it. She took 
much notice of it, and it wrought exceedingly on her 
compassions; and after she had attentively heard him a 
while, she went away to her father, who was in the shop, 



338 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

and intreated hiip to give that man a cow; and told him 
that the poor man had no cow! That the hunters or 
something else had killed his cow! And intreated him 
to give him one of theirs. Her father told her that they 
could not spare one. Then she intreated him to let him 
and his family come and live at his house; and had much 
talk of the same nature, whereby she manifested bowels 
of compassion to the poor. 

She had manifested great love to her minister ; particu- 
larly when I returned from my long journey for my 
health, the last fall, when she heard of it, she appeared 
very joyful at the news, and told the children of it with 
an elevated voice, as the most joyful tidings, repeating it 
over and over, Mr. Edwards is come home! Mr. Ed- 
wards is come home! She still continues very constant 
in secret prayer, so far as can be observed, (for she seems 
to have no desire that others should observe her when she 
retires, but seems to be a child of a reserved temper) and 
€very night before she goes to bed will say her catechism, 
and will by no means miss of it. She never forgot it but 
once, and then after she was a bed, thought of it and cried 
out in tears, I have not said my catechism! And would 
not be quieted till her mother asked her the catechism as 
she lay in bed. She sometimes appears to be in doubt 
about the conditiori of her soul, and when asked whether 
she thinks that she is prepared for death, speaks some- 
thing doubtfully about it. At other times seems to have 
no doubt, but when asked, replies yes, without hesitation. 

In the former part of this great work of God amongst 
us, till it got to its height, we seemed to be wonderfully 
smiled upon and blessed in all respects. Satan (as has 
been already observed) seemed to be unusually restrained. 
Persons that before had been involved in melancholy, 
seemed to be as it were waked up out of it, and those that 
had been entangled with extraordinary temptations, 
seemed wonderfully to be set at liberty, and not only so, 
but it was the most remarkable time of health that ever 
I knew since I have been in the town. We ordinarily 
have several bills put up, every sabbath, for persons that 
are sick, but now we have not so much as one for many 
sabbaths together. But after this it seemed to be other- 
wise, when this work of God appeared to be at its great- 
4est height. A poor weak man that belongs to the town. 



A FAITHFUL NAEEATIVE 339 

being in great spiritual trouble, was hurried with violent 
temptations to cut his own throat, and made an attempt, 
but did not do it effectually. He after this continued a 
considerable time exceedingly overwhelmed with melan- 
choly, but has now, of a long time, been very greatly de- 
livered, by the light of God's countenance lifted up upon 
him, and has expressed a great sense of his sin in so far 
yielding to temptation, and there are in him all hopeful 
evidences of his having been made a subject of saving 
mercy. 

In the latter part of May, it began to be very sensible 
that the spirit of God was gradually withdrawing from us, 
and after this time Satan s'eemed to be more let loose, 
and raged in a dreadful manner. The first instance 
wherein it appeared, was a person's putting an end to his 
own life, by cutting his throat. He was a gentleman of 
more than common understanding, of strict morals, re- 
ligious in his behaviour, and an useful, honorable person 
in the town ; but was of a family that are exceeding prone 
to the disease of melancholy, and his mother was killed 
with it. He had, from the beginning of this extraordi- 
nary time, been exceedingly concerned about the state of 
his soul, and there were some things in his experience, 
that appeared very hopefully, but he durst entertain no 
hope concerning his own good estate. Towards the latter 
part of his time, he grew much discouraged, and melan- 
choly grew amain upon him, till he was wholly overpow- 
ered, by it, and was in a great measure, past a capacity of 
receiving advice, or being reasoned with to any purpose. 
The devil took the advantage, and drove him into despair- 
ing thoughts. He was kept awake nights, meditating ter- 
ror, so that he had scarce any sleep at all, for a long time 
together. And it was observed at last, that he was 
scarcely well capable of managing his ordinary business, 
and was judged delirious by the coroner's inquest. The 
news of this, extraordinarily affected the minds of people 
here, and struck them as it were with astonishment. 
After this, multitudes in this and other towns seemed to 
have it strongly suggested to them, and pressed upon 
them, to do as this person had done. And many that 
seemed to be under no melancholy, some pious persons, 
that had no special darkness or doubts about the goodness 
of their state, nor were under any special trouble or con- 



340 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

cern of mind about any thing spiritual or temporal, yet 
had it urged upon them, as if somebody had spoken to 
them. Cut your own throat, now is a good opportunity. 
Now ! Now ! So that they were obliged to fight with all 
their might to resist it, and yet no reason suggested to 
them why they should do it. 

About the same time, there were two remarkable in- 
stances of persons led away with strange enthusiastic de- 
lusions. One at Suffield, and another at South Hadley. 
That which has made the greatest noise in the country 
was of the man at South Hadley, whose delusion was, 
that he thought himself divinely instructed to direct a 
poor man in melancholy and despairing circumstances, 
to say certain words in prayer to God, as recorded in 
Psal. cxvi. 4, for his own relief. The man is esteemed a 
pious man. I have, since this error of his, had a particu- 
lar acquaintance with him, and, I believe, none would 
question his piety, that had had such an acquaintance. 
He gave me a particular account of the manner how he 
was deluded, which is too long to be here inserted. But, 
in short, he was exceedingly rejoiced and elevated with 
this extraordinary work, so carried on in this part of the 
country, and was possessed with an opinion that it was the 
beginning of the glorious times of the church spoken of 
in scripture. And had read it as the opinion of some 
divines, that there would be many in these times that 
should be endued with extraordinary gifts of the Holy 
Ghost, and had embraced the notion; though he had at 
first no apprehensions that any besides ministers would 
have such gifts. But he since exceedingly laments the 
dishonor he has done to God, and the wound he has given 
religion in it, and has lain low before God and man for it. 

After these things the instances of conversion were 
rare here in comparison of what they had before been, 
(though that remarkable instance of the little child was 
after this;) and the spirit of God after that time appeared 
very sensibly withdrawing from all parts of the country, 
(though we have heard of its going on in some places of 
Connecticut, and that it continues to be carried on even 
to this day.) But religion remained here, and, I be- 
lieve in some other places, the main subject of conversa- 
tion for several months after this. And there were some 
turns, wherein God's work seemed something to revive. 



A FAITHFUL NAKEATIVE 341 

and we were ready to hope that all was going to be re- 
newed again; yet in the main there was a gradual decline 
of that general, engaged lively spirit in religion, which 
had been before. Several things have happened since, 
that have diverted people's minds, and turned their con- 
versation more to other affairs, as particularly his Excel- 
lency the Governor's coming up, and the Committee of 
the General Court, on the treaty with the Indians; and 
afterwards the Springfield controversy, and since that, our 
people in this town have been engaged in the building of 
a new meeting-house; and some other occurrences might 
be mentioned, that have seemed to have this effect. 

But as to those that have been thought to be converted 
among us, in this time, they generally seem to be per- 
sons that have had an abiding change wrought on them. 
I have had particular acquaintance with many of them 
since, and they generally appear to be persons that have 
a new sense of things, new apprehensions and views of 
God, of the divine attributes, and Jesus Christ, and the 
great things of the gospel. They have a new sense of the 
truth of them, and they affect them in a new manner; 
though it is very far from being always alike with them, 
neither can they revive a sense of things when they please. 
Their hearts are often touched, and sometimes filled with 
new sweetnesses and delights; there seems to be an inward 
ardor and burning of heart that they express, the like to 
which they never experienced before; sometimes, perhaps, 
occasioned only by the mention of Christ's name, or some 
one of the divine perfections. There are new appetites, and a 
new kind of breathings and pantings of heart, and groan- 
ings that cannot be uttered. There is a new kind of inward 
labor and struggle of soul towards heaven and holiness. 

Some that before were very rough in their temper and 
manners seem to be remarkably softened and sweetened. 
And some have had their souls exceedingly filled and 
overwhelmed with light, love, and comfort, long since the 
work of God has ceased to be so remarkably carried on in 
a general way; and some have had much greater experi- 
ences of this nature than they had before. And there is 
still a great deal of religious conversation continued in 
the town, amongst young and old; a religious disposition 
appears to be still maintained amongst our people, by 
their upholding frequent private religious meetings, and 



842 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

all sorts are generally worshipping God at such meetings, 
on sabbath nights, and in the evening after our public 
lecture. Many children in the town do still keep up such 
meetings among themselves. I know of no one young 
person in the town that has returned to former ways of 
looseness and extravagancy in any respect, but we still 
remain a reformed people, and God has evidently made us 
a new people. 

I cannot say there has been no instance of any one 
person that has carried himself so, that others should 
justly be stumbled concerning his profession; nor am I 
so vain as to imagine that we have not been mistaken con- 
cerning any that we have entertained a good opinion of, 
or that there are none that pass amongst us for sheep, 
that are indeed wolves in sheep's cloathing, who probably 
may, some time or other, discover themselves by their 
fruits. We are not so pure but that we have great cause 
to be humbled and ashamed, that we are so impure; nor 
so religious but that those that watch for our halting 
may see things in us, whence they may take occasion to 
reproach us and religion; but in the main there has been 
a great and marvellous work of conversion and sanctifica- 
tion among the people here, and they have paid all due 
respects to those who have been blest of God to be the in- 
struments of it. Both old and young have shewn a for- 
wardness to hearken not only to my counsels, but even to 
my reproofs from the pulpit. 

A great part of the country have not received the 
most favorable thoughts of this affair, and to this day 
many retain a jealousy concerning it, and prejudice 
against it; I have reason to think that the meanness and 
weakness of the instrument, that has been made use of 
in this town, has prejudiced many against it; it does not 
appear to me strange that it should be so. But yet the 
circumstance of this great work of God is analogous to 
other circumstances of it; God has so ordered the man- 
ner of the work in many respects, as very signally and 
remarkably to shew it to be his own peculiar and imme- 
diate work, and to secure the glory of it wholly to his own 
almighty power and sovereign grace. And whatever the 
circumstances and means have been, and though we are 
so unworthy, yet so hath it pleased God to work! And 
we are evidently a people blessed of the Lord! And here 



A FAITHFUL NAREATIVE 843 

in this corner of the world, God dwells, and manifests his 
glory. 

Thus, Reverend Sir, I have given a large and particular 
account of this remarkable affair, and yet considering how 
manifold God's works have been amongst us, that are 
worthy to be written, it is but a very brief one. I should 
have sent it much sooner, had I not been greatly hindered 
by illness in my family, and also in myself. It is prob- 
ably much larger than you expected, and it may be than 
you would have chosen. I thought that the extraordinari- 
ness of the thing, and the innumerable misrepresentations 
which have gone abroad of it, many of which have, doubt- 
less, reached your ears, made it necessary that I should be 
particular. But I would leave it entirely with your wis- 
dom to make what use of it you think best, to send a part 
of it to England, or all, or none, if you think it not 
worthy; or otherwise to dispose of it as you may think 
most for God's glory, and the interest of religion. If you 
are pleased to send any thing to the Rev. Dr. Guyse, I 
should be glad to have it signified to him, as my humble 
desire, that since he, and the congregation to which he 
preached, have been pleased to take so much notice of us, 
as they have, that they would also think of us at the 
Throne of Grace, and seek there for us that God would 
not forsake us, but enable us to bring forth fruit answer- 
able to our profession, and our mercies, and that our light 
may so shine before men, that others, seeing our good 
works, may glorify our father luhich is in heaven. 

When first I heard of the notice the Reverend Dr. 
Watts and Dr. Guyse took of God's mercies to us, I took 
occasion to inform our congregation of it in a discourse 
from these words; A city that is set upon a hill cannot he 
hid. And having since seen a particular account of the 
notice of the Reverend Dr. Guyse, and the congregation 
he preached to, took of it, in a letter you wrote to my 
honored uncle Williams, I read that part of your letter 
to the congregation, and labored as much as in me lay 
to enforce their duty from it. The congregation were 
very sensibly moved and afi^ected at both times. 

I humbly request of you, Reverend Sir, your prayers 
for this country, in its present melancholy circumstances, 
into which it is brought by the Springfield quarrel, which, 
doubtless, above all things that have happened, has tended 



344 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

to put a stQp to tlie glorious work here, and to prejudice 
this country against it, and hinder the propagation of it. 
I also ask your prayers for this town, and would particu- 
larly beg an interest in them for him who is, 
Honored Sir, 

With humhle respect. 

Your obedient son and servant, 

Jonathan Edwards. 
Northampton, Nov, 6, 1736. 

PEESONAL NAEEATIVE 

I had a variety of concerns and exercises about my soul 
from my childhood; but had two more remarkable seasons 
of awakening, before I met with that change by which I 
was brought to those new dispositions, and that new 
sense of things, that I have since had. The first time 
was when I was a boy, some years before I went to col- 
lege, at a time of remarkable awakening in my father's 
congregation. I was then very much affected for many 
months, and concerned about the things of religion, and 
my soul's salvation; and was abundant in duties. I used 
to pray five times a day in secret, and to spend much 
time in religious talk with other boys, and used to meet 
with them to pray together. I experienced I know not 
what kind of delight in religion. My mind was much en- 
gaged in it, and had much self-righteous pleasure; and it 
was my delight to abound in religious duties. I with 
some of my schoolmates joined together, and built a booth 
in a swamp, in a very retired spot, for a place of prayer. 
And besides, I had particular secret places of my own 
in the woods, where I used to retire by myself; and was 
from time to time much affected. My affections seemed 
to be lively and easily moved, and I seemed to be in my 
element when engaged in religious duties. And I am 
ready to think, many are deceived with such affections, 
and such a kind of delight as I then had in religion, and 
mistake it for grace. 

But in process of time, my convictions and affections 
wore off; and I entirely lost all those affections and de- 
lights and left off secret prayer, at least as to any constant 
performance of it ; and returned like a dog to his vomit, 
and went on in the ways of sin. Indeed I was at times 



PEESONAL NAEEATIVE 345 

very uneasy, especially towards the latter part of my time 
at college; when it pleased God, to seize me with the 
pleurisy; in which he brought me nigh to the grave, and 
shook me over the pit of hell. And yet, it was not long 
after my recovery, before I fell again into my old ways 
of sin. But God would not suffer me to go on with my 
quietness; I had great and violent inward struggles, till, 
after many conflicts, with wicked inclinations, repeated 
resolutions, and bonds that I laid myself under by a kind 
of vows to God, I was brought wholly to break off all 
former wicked ways, and all \^ays of known outward sin; 
and to apply myself to seek salvation, and practice many 
religious duties; but without that kind of affection and 
delight which I had formerly experienced. My concern 
now wrought more by inward struggles and conflicts, and 
self-reflections. I made seeking my salvation the main 
business of my life. But yet, it seems to me, I sought 
after a miserable manner; which has made me sometimes 
since to question, whether ever it issued in that which 
was saving; being ready to doubt, whether such miserable 
seeking ever succeeded. I was indeed brought to seek 
salvation in a manner that I never was before; I felt a 
spirit to part with all things in the world, for an interest 
in Christ. — My concern continued and prevailed, with 
many exercising thoughts and inward struggles; but yet 
it never seemed to be proper to express that concern by the 
name of terror. 

From my childhood up, my mind had been full of objec- 
tions against the doctrine of God's sovereignty, in choos- 
ing whom he would to eternal life, and rejecting whom 
he pleased; leaving them eternally to perish, and be ever- 
lastingly tormented in hell. It used to appear like a 
horrible doctrine to me. But I remember the tlime very 
well, when I seemed to be convinced, and fully satisfied, 
as to this sovereignty of God, and his justice in thus 
eternally disposing of men, according to his sovereign 
pleasure. But never could give an account, how, or by 
what means, I was thus convinced, not in the least im- 
agining at the time, nor a long time after, that there was 
any extraordinary influence of God's Spirit in it; but 
only that now I saw further, and my reason apprehended 
the justice and reasonableness of it. However, my mind 
rested in it; and it put an end to all those cavils and ob- 



346 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

jections. And there has been a wonderful alteration in 
my mind, with respect to the doctrine of God's sov- 
ereignty, from that day to this ; so that I scarce ever have 
found so much as the rising of an objection against it, in 
the most absolute sense, in God's shewing mercy to whom 
he will shew mercy, and hardening whom he will. God's 
absolute sovereignty and justice, with respect to salvation 
and damnation, is what my mind seems to rest assured of, 
as much as of any thing that I see with my eyes ; at least 
it is so at times. But I have often, since that first con- 
viction, had quite another kind of sense of God's sov- 
ereignty than I had then. I have often since had not 
only a conviction, but a delightful conviction. The doc- 
trine has very often appeared exceeding pleasant, bright, 
and sweet. 

Absolute sovereignty is what I love to ascribe to God. 
But my first conviction was not so. 

The first instance that I remember of that sort of in- 
ward, sweet delight in God and divine things that I have 
lived much in since, was on reading those words, 1 Tim. 
i :17. Now unto the King eternal^ immortal, invisible, the 
only wise God, he honor and glory forever and ever. Amen, 
As I read the words, there came into my soul, and was 
as it were diffused through it, a sense of the glory of the 
Divine Being ; a new sense, quite different from any thing 
I ever experienced before. Never any words of scripture 
seemed to me as these words did. I thought within myself, 
how excellent a being that was, and how happy I should 
be, if I might enjoy that God, and be wrapt up in heaven, 
and be as it were swallowed up in him forever! I kept 
saying, and as it were singing over these words of scrip- 
ture to myself; and went to pray to God that I might 
enjoy him, and prayed in a manner quite different from 
what I used to do; with a new sort of affection. But it 
never came into my thought, that there was any thing 
spiritual, or of a saving nature in this. 

From about that time, I began to have a new kind of 
apprehensions and ideas of Christ, and the work of re- 
demption, and the glorious way of salvation by him. An 
inward, sweet sense of these things, at times, came into 
my heart; and my soul was led away in pleasant views 
and contemplations of them. And my mind was greatly 
engaged to spend my time in reading and meditating on 



PERSONAL NAREATIVE 347 

Christ, on tlie beauty and excellency of his person, and 
the lovely way of salvation by free grace in him. I found 
no books so delightful to me, as those that treated of these 
subjects. Those words. Cant, ii :1, used to be abundantly 
with me, I am the Rose of Sharon, and the Lily of the 
valleys. The words seemed to me, sweetly to represent 
the loveliness and beauty of Jesus Christ. The whole 
book of Canticles used to be pleasant to me, and I used to 
be much in reading it, about that time; and found, from 
time to time, an inward sweetness, that would carry me 
away, in my contemplations. This I know not how to 
express otherwise, than by a calm, sweet abstraction of 
soul from all the concerns of this world; and sometimes a 
kind of vision, or fixed ideas and imaginations, of being 
alone in the mountains, or some solitary wilderness, far 
from all mankind, sweetly conversing with Christ, and 
wrapt and swallowed up in God. The sense I had of 
divine things, would often of a sudden kindle up, as it 
were, a sweet burning in my heart; an ardor of soul, that 
I know not how to express. 

Not long after I began to experience these things, I 
gave an account to my father of some things that had 
passed in my mind. I was pretty much affected by the 
discourse we had togetiher; and when the discourse was 
ended, I walked abroad alone, in a solitary place in my 
father's pasture for contemplation. And as I was walk- 
ing there and looking up on the sky and clouds, there 
came into my mind so sweet a sense of the glorious 
majesty and grace of God, that I know not how to express. 
I seemed to see them both in a sweet conjunction ; majes- 
ty and meekness joined together; it was a gentle, and 
holy majesty; and also a majestic meekness; a high, great, 
and holy gentleness. 

After this my sense of divine things gradually in- 
creased, and became more and more lively, and had more 
of that inward sweetness. The appearance of every thing 
was altered; there seemed to be, as it were, a calm, sweet 
cast, or appearance of divine glory, in almost every thing. 
God's excellency, his wisdom, his purity and love, seemed 
to appear in every thing; in the sun, moon, and stars; in 
the clouds, and blue sky; in the grass, flowers, trees; in 
the water, and all nature; which used greatly to fix my 
mind. I often used to sit and view the moon for contin- 



348 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

uance; and in the day, spent much time in viewing" the 
clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of God in these 
things ; in the mean time, singing forth, with a low voice ; 
my contemplations of the Creator and Redeemer. And 
softrce any thing, among all the works of nature, was so 
delightful to me as thunder and lightning; formerly, 
nothing had been so terrible to me. Before, I used to be 
uncommonly terrified with thunder, and to be struck with 
terror when I saw a thunder storm rising ; but now, on the 
contrary, it rejoiced me. I felt God, so to speak, at the 
first appearance of a thunder storm ; and used to take the 
opportunity^ at such times, to fix myself in order to view 
the clouds, and see the lightnings play, and hear the 
majestic and awful voice of God's thunder, which often- 
times was exceedingly entertaining, leading me to sweet 
contemplations of my great and glorious God. While 
thus engaged, it always seemed natural to me to sing, or 
chant for my meditations; or, to speak my thoughts in 
soliloquies with a singing voice. 

I felt then great satisfaction, as to my good state; but 
that did not content me. I had vehement longings of 
soul after God and Christ, and after more holiness, where- 
with my heart seemed to be full, and ready to break; 
which often brought to my mind the words of the Psalm- 
ist, Psal. cxix. 28 : My soul hreaketh for the longing it 
hath, I often felt a mourning and lamenting in my 
heart, that I had not turned to God sooner, that I might 
have had more time to grow in grace. My mind was 
greatly fixed on divine things; almost perpetually in the 
contemplation of them. I spent most of my time in think- 
ing of divine things, year after year; often walking alone 
in the woods, and solitary places, for meditation, soliloquy, 
and prayer, and converse with God ; and it was always my 
manner, at such times, to sing forth my contemplations. 
I was almost constantly in ejaculatory prayer, wherever I 
was. Prayer seemed to be natural to me, as the breath by 
which the inward burnings of my heart had vent. The 
delights which I now felt in the things of religion, were 
of an exceedingly different kind from those before men- 
tioned, that I had when a boy; and what I then had no 
more notion of, than one born blind has of pleasant and 
beautiful colors. They were of a more inward, pure, soul- 
:animating and refreshing nature. Those former delights 



4 



PEKSONAL NAEKATIVE 349 

never reached the heart ; and did not arise from any sight 
of the divine excellency of the things of God ; or any taste 
of the soul-satisfying and life-giving good there is in 
them. 

My sense of divine things seemed gradually to increase, 
until I went to preach at New York, which was about a 
year and a half after they began; and while I was there, 
I felt them, very sensibly, in a higher degree than I had 
done before. My longings after God and holiness, were 
much increased. Pure and humble, holy and heavenly 
Christianity, appeared exceedingly amiable to me. I felt 
a burning desire to be in every thing a complete Chris- 
tian; and conform to the blessed image of Christ; and 
that I might live, in all things, according to the pure and 
blessed rules of the gospel. I had an eager thirsting after 
progress in these things ; which put me upon pursuing and 
pressing aftier them. It was my continual strife day and 
night, and constant inquiry, how I should he more holy, 
and live more holily, and more becoming a child of God, 
and a disciple of Christ. I now sought an increase of 
grace and holiness, and a holy life, with much more ear- 
nestness, than ever I sought grace before I had it. I 
used to be continually examining myself, and studying 
and contriving for likely ways and means, how I should 
live holily, with far greater diligence and earnestness, 
than ever I pursued any thing in my life; but yet with 
too great a dependance on my own strength; which after- 
wards proved a great damage to me. My experience had 
not then taught me, as it has done since, my extreme 
feebleness and impotence, every manner of way; and the 
bottomless depths of secret corruption and deceit there 
was in my heart. However, I went on with my eager pur- 
suit after more holiness, and conformity to Christ. 

The heaven I desired was a heaven of holiness; to be 
with God, and to spend my eternity in divine love, and 
holy communion with Christ. My mind was very much 
taken up with contemplations on heaven, and the enjoy- 
ments there ; and living there in perfect holiness, humility 
and love. And it used at that time to appear a great part 
of the happiness of heaven, that there the saints could ex- 
press their love to Christ. It appeared to me a great clog 
and burden, that what I felt within, I could not express 
as I desired. The inward ardor of my soul, seemed to be 



350 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

hindered and pent up, and could not freely flame out as it 
would. I used often to think, how in heaven this prin- 
ciple should freely and fully vent and express itseK. 
Heaven appeared exceedingly delightful, as a world of 
love; and that all happiness consisted in living in pure, 
humble, heavenly, divine love. 

I remember the thoughts I used then to have of holi- 
ness; and said sometimes to myself, "I do certainly know 
that I love holiness, such as the gospel prescribes." It 
appeared to me, that there was nothing in it but what was 
ravishingly lovely; the highest beauty and amiableness — a 
divine beauty; far purer than any thing here upon earth; 
and that every thing else was like mire and defilement, in 
comparison of it. 

Holiness, as I then wrote down some of my contempla- 
tions on it, appeared to me to be of a sweet, pleasant, 
charming, serene, calm nature; which brought an inex- 
pressible purity, brightness, peacefulness and ravishment, 
to the soul. In other words, that it made the soul like a 
field or garden of God, with all manner of pleasant flow- 
ers; all pleasant, delightful, and undisturbed; enjoying 
a sweet calm, and the gently vivifying beams of the sun. 
The soul of a true Christian, as I then wrote my medita- 
tions, appeared like such a little white flower as we see 
in the spring of the year; low and humble on the ground, 
opening its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the 
sun's glory; rejoicing as it were in a calm rapture; dif- 
fusing around a sweet fragrancy; standing peacefully 
and lovingly, in the midst of other flowers round about; 
all in like manner opening their bosoms, to drink in the 
light of the sun. There was no part of creature holiness, 
that I had so great a sense of its loveliness, as humility, 
brokenness of heart and poverty of spirit; and there was 
nothing that I so earnestly longed for. My heart panted 
after this, to lie low before God, as in the dust; that I 
might be nothing, and that God might be all, that I might 
become as a little child. 

While at New York, I was sometimes much affected 
with reflections on my past life, considering how late it 
was before I began to be truly religious ; and how wickedly 
I had lived till then; and once so as to weep abundantly, 
and for a considerable time together. 

On January 12, 1723. I made a solemn dedication of 



PEKSONAL NAKEATIVE 351 

myself to God, and wrote it down; giving up myself, and 
all that I had to God; to be for the future in no respect 
my own; to act as one that had no right to himself, in 
any respect. And solemnly vowed to take God for my 
whole portion and felicity ; looking on nothing else as any 
part of my happiness, nor acting as if it were; and his 
law for the constant rule of my obedience; engaging to 
fight with all my might, against the world, the flesh and 
the devil, to the end of my life. But I have reason to be 
infinitely humbled, when I consider how much I have 
failed of answering my obligation. 

I had then abundance of sweet religious conversation in 
the family where I lived, with Mr. John Smith and his 
pious mother. My heart was knit in affection to those 
in whom were appearances of true piety; and I could 
bear the thoughts of no other companions, but such as 
were holy, and the disciples of the blessed Jesus. I had 
great longings for the advancement of Christ's kingdom 
in the world; and my secret prayer used to be, in great 
part, taken up in praying for it. If I heard the least 
hint of any thing that happened, in any part of the world, 
that appeared, in some respect or other, to have a favor- 
able aspect on the interest of Christ's kingdom, my soul 
eagerly catched at it ; and it would much animate and 
refresh me. I used to be eager to read public news let- 
ters, mainly for that end; to see if I could not find some 
news favorable to the interest of religion in the world. 

I very frequently used to retire into a solitary place, 
on the banks of Hudson's river, at some distance from the 
city, for contemplation on divine things, and secret con- 
verse with God ; and had many sweet hours there. Some- 
times Mr. Smith ancJ I walked there together, to converse 
on the things of God; and our conversation used to turn 
much on the advancement of Christ's kingdom in the 
world, and the glorious things that God would accomplish 
for his church in the latter days. I had then, and at 
other times the greatest delight in the holy scriptures, of 
any book whatsoever. Oftentimes in reading it, every 
word seemed to touch my heart. I felt a harmony be- 
tween something in my heart, and those sweet and pow- 
erful words. I seemed often to see so much light exhib- 
ited by every sentence, and such a refreshing food com- 
municated, that I could not get along in reading; often 



352 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

dwelling long on one sentence, to see the wonders con- 
tained in it; and yet almost every sentence seemed to be 
full of wonders. 

I came away from New York in the month of April, 
1Y23, and had a most bitter parting with Madam Smith 
and her son. My heart seemed to sink within me at 
leaving the family and city, where I had enjoyed so many 
sweet and pleasant days. I went from New York to 
Weathersfield, by water, and as I sailed away, I kept sight 
of the city as long as I could. However, that night, after 
this sorrowful parting, I was greatly comforted in God at 
Westchester, where we went ashore to lodge; and had a 
pleasant time of it all the voyage to Saybrook. It was 
sweet to me to think of meeting dear Christians in 
heaven, where we should never part more. At Saybrook 
we went ashore to lodge, on Saturday, and there kept the 
Sabbath; where I had a sweet and refreshing season, 
walking alone in the fields. 

After I came home to Windsor, I remained much in a 
like frame of mind, as when at New York; only some- 
times I felt my heart ready to sink with the thoughts of 
my friends at New York. My support was in contempla- 
tions on the heavenly state; as I find in my Diary of 
May 1, 1723. It was a comfort to think of that state, 
where there is fulness of joy ; where reigns heavenly, calm, 
and delightful love, without alloy ; where there are contin- 
ually the dearest expressions of this love; where is the 
enjoyment of the persons loved, without ever parting; 
where those persons who appear so lovely in this world, 
will really be inexpressibly more lovely and full of love to 
us. And how sweetly will the mutual lovers join to- 
gether to sing the praises of God and the Lamb! How 
will it fill us with joy to think, that this enjoyment, these 
sweet exercises will never cease, but will last to all eter- 
nity! I continued much in the same frame, in the gen- 
eral, as when at New York, till I went to New Haven as 
tutor to the college; particularly once at Bolton, on a 
journey from Boston, while walking out alone in the 
fields. After I went to New Haven I sunk in religion; 
my mind being diverted from my eager pursuits after 
holiness, by some affairs that greatly perplexed and dis- 
tracted my thoughts. 

In September, 1725, I was taken ill at New Haven, and 



PEESONAL NAREATIVE 353 

while endeavoring to go home to Windsor, was so ill at 
the North Village, that I could go no further; where I 
lay sick for about a quarter of a year. In this sickness 
God was pleased to visit me again with the sweet influ- 
ences of his Spirit. My mind was greatly engaged there 
in divine, pleasant contemplations, and longings of soul. 
I observed that those who watched with me, would often 
be looking out wishfully for the morning; which brought 
to my mind those words of the Psalmist, and which my 
soul with delight made its own language, My soul wait- 
eth for the Lord, more than they that watch for the 
morning, I say, more than they that watch for the morn- 
ing; and when the light of day came in at the windows, it 
refreshed my soul from one morning to another. It 
seemed to be some image of the light of God's glory. 

I remember, about that time, I used greatly to long for 
the conversion of some that I was concerned with ; I could 
gladly honor them, and with delight be a servant to them, 
and lie at their feet, if they were but truly holy. But, 
some time after this, I was again greatly diverted in my 
mind with some temporal concerns that exceedingly took 
up my thoughts, greatly to the wounding of my soul ; and 
went on through various exercises, that it would be te- 
dious to relate, which gave me much more experience of 
my own heart, than ever I had before. 

Since I came to this town,^ I have often had sweet 
complacency in God, in views of his glorious perfections 
and the excellency of Jesus Christ. God has appeared to 
me a glorious and lovely being, chiefly on the account of 
his holiness. The holiness of God has always appeared 
to me the most lovely of all his attributes. The doctrines 
of God's absolute sovereignty, and free grace, in shewing- 
mercy to whom he would shew mercy ; and man's absolute 
dependance on the operations of God's Holy Spirit, have 
very often appeared to me as sweet and glorious doctrines. 
These doctrines have been much my delight. God's sov- 
ereignty has ever appeared to me, great part of his glory. 
It has often been my delight to approach God, and adore 
him as a sovereign God, and ask sovereign mercy of him. 

I have loved the doctrines of the gospel ; they have been 
to my soul like green pastures. The gospel has seemed 



Northampton. 



854 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

to me the richest treasure; the treasure that I have most 
desired, and longed that it might dwell richly in me. 
The way of salvation by Christ has appeared, in a general 
way, glorious and excellent, most pleasant and most beau- 
tiful. It has often seemed to me, that it would in a 
great measure spoil heaven, to receive it in any other 
way. That text has often been affecting and delightful 
to me. Isa. xxxii : 2. A man shall he an hiding place from 
the wind, and a covert from the tempest, &c. 

It has often appeared to me delightful, to be united to 
Christ; to have him for my head, and to be a member of 
his body; also to have Christ for my teacher and prophet. 
I very often think with sweetness, and longings, and 
pantings of soul, of being a little child, taking hold of 
Christ, to be led by him through the wilderness of this 
world. That text, Matth. xviii: 3, has often been sweet 
to me, except ye he converted and become .05 little chil- 
dren, &c. I love to think of coming to Christ, to re- 
ceive salvation of him, poor in spirit, and quite empty of 
self, humbly exalting him alone; cut off entirely from my 
own root, in order to grow into, and out of Christ; to 
have God in Christ to be all in all; and to live by faith 
on the Son of God, a life of humble unfeigned confidence 
in him. That scripture has often been sweet to me, 
Psal. cxv: 1. Not unto us, Lord, not unto us, hut to 
thy name give glory, for thy mercy and for thy truth's 
sake. And those words of Christ, Luke x: 21. In that 
hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank thee, 
Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these 
things from the wise and ptmdent, and hast revealed them 
unto hahes; even so. Father, for so it seemed good in thy 
sight. That sovereignty of God which Christ rejoiced in, 
seemed to me worthy of such joy; and that rejoicing 
seemed to show the excellency of Christ, and of what 
spirit he was. 

Sometimes, only mentioning a single word caused my 
heart to burn within me; or only seeing the name of 
Christ, or the name of some attribute of God. And God 
has appeared glorious to me, on account of the Trinity. 
It has made me have exalting thoughts of God, that he 
subsists in three persons; Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 
The sweetest joys and delights I have experienced, have 
not been those that have arisen from a hope of my own 



PEKSONAL NAEKATIYE 355 

good estate; but in a direct view of the glorious things of 
the gospel. When I enjoy this sweetness, it seems to 
carry me above the thoughts of my own estate; it seems 
at such times a loss that I cannot bear, to take off my 
eye from the glorious pleasant object I behold without me, 
to turn my eye in upon myself, and my own good estate. 

My heart has been much on the advancement of Christ's 
kingdom in the world. The histories of the past advance- 
ment of Christ's kingdom have been sweet to me. When 
I have read histories of past ages, the pleasantest thing 
in all my reading has been, to read of the kingdom of 
Christ being promoted. And when I have expected, in 
my reading, to come to any such thing, I have rejoiced in 
the prospect, all the way as I read. And my mind has 
been much entertained and delighted with the scripture 
promises and prophecies, which relate to the future glori- 
ous advancement of Christ's kingdom upon earth. 

I have sometimes had a sense of the excellent fulness 
of Christ, and his meetness and suitableness as a Saviour ; 
whereby he has appeared to me, far above all, the chief 
of ten thousands. His blood and atonement have ap- 
peared sweet, and his righteousness sweet; which was al- 
ways accompanied with ardency of spirit; and inward 
strugglings and breathings, and groanings that cannot 
be uttered, to be emptied of myself, and swallowed up in 
Christ. 

Once as I rode out into the woods for my health, in 
1737, having alighted from my horse in a retired place, 
as my manner commonly has been, to walk for divine 
contemplation and prayer, I had a view that for me was 
extraordinary, of the glory of the Son of God, as Medi- 
ator between God and man, and his wonderful, great, full, 
pure and sweet grace and love, and meek and gentle con- 
descension. This grace that appeared so calm and sweet, 
appeared also great above the heavens. The person of 
Christ appeared ineffably excellent with an excellency 
great enough to swallow up all thought and conception — 
which continued as near as I can judge, about an hour; 
which kept me the greater part of the time in a flood of 
tears, and weeping aloud. I felt an ardency of soul to 
be, what I know not otherwise how to express, emptied and 
annihilated; to lie in the dust, and to be full of Christ 
alone; to love him with a holy and pure love; to trust in 



356 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

him; to live upon Mm; to serve and follow him; and to 
be perfectly sanctified and made pure, with a divine and 
heavenly purity. I have, several other times, had views 
very much of the same nature, and which have had the 
same effects. 

I have many times had a sense of the glory of the third 
person in the Trinity, in his office of Sanctifier; in his 
holy operations, communicating divine light and life to 
the soul. God, in the communications of his Holy Spirit, 
has appeared as an infinite fountain of divine glory and 
sweetness; being full, and sufficient to fill and satisfy the 
soul; pouring forth itself in sweet communications; like 
the sun in its glory, sweetly and pleasantly diffusing 
light and life. And I have sometimes had an affecting 
sense of the excellency of the word of God, as a word of 
life; as the light of life; a sweet, excellent, life-giving 
word; accompanied with a thirsting after that word, that 
it might dwell richly in my heart. 

Often, since I lived in this town, I have had very af- 
fecting views of my own sinfulness and vileness; very 
frequently to such a degree as to hold me in a kind of 
loud weeping, sometimes for a considerable time together ; 
so that I have often been forced to shut myself up. I 
have had a vastly greater sense of my own wickedness, 
and the badness of my own heart, than ever I had before 
my conversion. It has often appeared to me, that if God 
should mark iniquity against me, I should appear the very 
worst of all mankind; of all that have been, since the be- 
ginning of the world to this time; and that I should have 
by far the lowest place in hell. When others, that have 
come to talk with me about their soul concerns, have ex- 
pressed the sense they have had of their own wickedness, 
by saying that it seemed to them, that they were as bad 
as the devil himself; I thought their expression seemed 
exceedingly faint and feeble, to represent my wickedness. 

My wickedness, as I am in myself, has long appeared 
to me perfectly ineffable, and swallowing up all thought 
and imagination; like an infinite deluge, or mountains 
over my head. I know not how to express better what 
my sins appear to me to be, than by heaping infinite upon 
infinite, and multiplying infinite by infinite. Very often, 
for these many years, these expressions are in my mind, 
and in my mouth, ^'Infinite upon infinite— Infinite upon 



PEKSONAL NAEKATIYE 357 

infinite!" When I look into my heart, and take a view of 
my wickedness, it looks like an abyss infinitely deeper 
than hell. And it appears to me, that were it not for free 
grace, exalted and raised up to the infinite height of all 
the fulness and glory of the great Jehovah, and the arm 
of his power and grace stretched forth in all the majesty 
of his power, and in all the glory of his sovereignty, I 
should appear sunk down in my sins below hell itself; far 
beyond the sight of every thing, but the eye of sovereign 
grace, that can pierce even down to such a depth. And 
yet, it seems to me, that my conviction of sin is exceed- 
ingly small, and faint; it is enough to amaze me, that I 
have no more sense of my sin. I know certainly, that I 
have very little sense of my sinfulness. When I have 
had turns of weeping and crying for my sins, I thought I 
knew at the time, that my repentance was nothing to my 
sin. 

I have greatly longed of late, for a broken heart, and to 
lie low before God; and, when I ask for humility, I can- 
not bear the thoughts of being no more humble than other 
Christians. It seems to me, that though their degrees of 
humility may be suitable for them, yet it would be a vile 
self-exaltation to me, not to be the lowest in humility of 
all mankind. Others speak of their longing to be ^^hum- 
bled to the dust;" that may be a proper expression for 
them, but I always think of myself, that I ought, and it 
is an expression that has long been natural for me to use 
in prayer, "to lie infinitely low before God." And it is 
affecting to think, how ignorant I was, when a young 
Christian, of the bottomless, infinite depths of wickedness, 
pride, hypocrisy and deceit, left in my heart. 

I have a much greater sense of my universal, exceeding 
dependence on God's grace and strength, and mere good 
pleasure, of late, than I used formerly to have; and have 
experienced more of an abhorrence of my own righteous- 
ness. The very thought of any joy arising in me, on 
any consideration of my own amiableness, performances, 
or experiences, or any goodness of heart or life, is nause- 
ous and detestable to me. And yet I am greatly afflicted 
with a proud and self-righteous spirit, much more sensibly 
than I used to be formerly. I see that serpent rising and 
putting forth its head continually, every where, all around 
me. 



358 JONATHAN EDWARDS 

Though, it seems to me, that, in some respects, I was a 
far better Christian, for two or three years after my first 
conversion, than I am now; and lived in a more constant 
delight and pleasure; yet, of late years, I have had a 
more full and constant sense of the absolute sovereignty 
of God, and a delight in that sovereignty; and have had 
more of a sense of the glory of Christ, as a Mediator re- 
vealed in the gospel. On one Saturday night, in partic- 
ular, I had such a discovery of the excellency of the gos- 
pel above all other doctrines, that I could not but say to 
myself, "This is my chosen light, my chosen doctrine;" 
and of Christ, "This is my chosen Prophet." It appeared 
sweet, beyond all expression, to follow Christ, and to be 
taught, and enlightened, and instructed by him; to learn 
of him, and live to him. Another Saturday night, {Jan- 
uary, 1739) I had such a sense, how sweet and blessed a 
thing it was to walk in the way of duty; to do that which 
was right and meet to be done, and agreeable to the holy 
mind of God; that it caused me to break forth into a 
kind of loud weeping, which held me some time, so that 
I was forced to shut myseK up, and fasten the doors. I 
could not but, as it were, cry out, "How happy are they 
which do that which is right in the sight of God! They 
are blessed indeed, they are the happy ones!" I had, at 
the same time, a very affecting sense, how meet and suit- 
able it was that God should govern the world, and order 
all things according to his own pleasure; and I rejoiced 
in it, that God reigned, and that his will was done. 



TO LADY PEPPERELL 

Stockbridge, Nov. 28, 1751. 
Madam, 

When I was at your house in Kittery, the last spring, 
among other instances of your kind and condescending 
treatment to me, was this, that, when I had some conver- 
sation with Sir William, concerning Stockbridge and the 
affairs of the Indians, and he generously offered me any 
assistance, in the business of my mission here, which his 
acquaintance and correspondence in London enabled him 
to afford me, and proposed my writing to him on our af- 
fairs; you were also pleased to invite me to write to you. 



TO LADY PEPPEKELL 359 

at the same time. If I should neglect to do as you then 
proposed, I should fail not only of discharging my duty, 
but of doing myself a great honour. But as I am well 
assured, even from the small acquaintance I had with 
you, that a letter of mere compliments would not be agree- 
able to a lady of your disposition and feelings, especially 
under your present melancholy circumstances; so the 
writing of such a letter is very far from my intention, or 
inclination. 

When I saw the evidences of your deep sorrow, under 
the awful frown of heaven in the death of your only son, 
it made an impression on my mind not easily forgotten; 
and when you spoke of my writing to you, I soon deter- 
mined what should be the subject of my letter. It was 
that, which appeared to me to be the most proper subject 
of contemplation, for one in your circumstances; that, 
which I thought, above all others, would furnish you a 
proper and sufficient source of consolation, under your 
heavy affliction; and this was the Lord Jesus Christ: — 
particularly the amiableness of his character, which ren- 
ders him worthy that we should love him, and take him 
for our only portion, our rest, hope and joy; and his great 
and unparalleled love towards us. — ^And I have been of 
the same mind ever since; being determined, if God fa- 
voured me with an opportunity to write to your Lady- 
ship, that those things should be the subject of my letter. 
For what other subject is so well calculated to prove a 
balm to the wounded spirit ? 

Let us then, dear Madam, contemplate the loveliness of 
our blessed Redeemer, which entitles him to our highest 
love; and, when clearly seen, leads us to find a sweet com- 
placency and satisfaction of soul in him, of whatever else 
we are deprived. The Scriptures assure us that He, who 
came into the world in our nature, and freely laid down 
his life for us, was truly possessed of all the fulness of 
the Godhead, of his infinite greatness, majesty and glory, 
his infinite wisdom, purity and holiness, his infinite right- 
eousness and goodness. He is called ^^the brightness of 
God's glory, and the express image of his person." He 
is the Image, the Expression, of infinite beauty; in the 
contemplation of which, God the Eather had all his un- 
speakable happiness from eternity. That eternal and un- 
speakable happiness of the Deity is represented as a kind 



360 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

of social happiness, in the society of the persons of the 
Trinity; P'rov. viii. 30, "Then I was by him as one 
brought up with him, I was daily his delight rejoicing 
always before him/' This glorious Person came down 
from heaven to be "the Light of the world," that by him 
the beauty of the Deity might shine forth, in the bright- 
est and fullest manner, to the children of men. 

Infinite Wisdom also has contrived, that we should be- 
hold the glory of the Deity, in the face of Jesus Christ, 
to the greatest advantage, in such a manner as should be 
best adapted to the capacity of poor feeble man; in such 
a manner, too, as is best fitted to engage our attention, 
and allure our hearts, as well as to inspire us with the 
most perfect complacency and delight. For Christ, hav- 
ing, by his incarnation, come down from his Infinite ex- 
altation above us, has become one of our kinsmen and 
brothers. And his glory shining upon us through his hu- 
man nature, the manifestation is wonderfully adapted to 
the strength of the human vision; so that, though it ap- 
pears in all its effulgence, it is yet attempered to our 
sight. He is indeed possessed of infinite majesty, to in- 
spire us with reverence and adoration; yet that majesty 
need not terrify us, for we behold it blended with humil- 
ity, meekness and sweet condescension. We may feel the 
most profound reverence and self-abasement, and yet our 
hearts be drawn forth, sweetly and powerfully, into an 
intimacy the most free, confidential and delightful. The 
dread, so naturally inspired by his greatness, is dispelled 
by the contemplation of his gentleness and humility; 
while the familiarity, which might otherwise arise from 
the view of the loveliness of his character merely, is ever 
prevented, by the consciousness of his infinite majesty and 
glory; and the sight of all his perfections united fills us 
with sweet surprize, and humble confidence, with reveren- 
tial love, and delightful adoration. 

This glory of Christ is properly, and in the highest 
sense, divine. He shines in all the brightness of glory, 
that is inherent in the Deity. Such is the exceeding 
brightness of this Sun of Righteousness, that, in com- 
parison of it, the light of the Natural Sun is as darkness ; 
and hence, when he shall appear in his glory, the bright- 
ness of the Sun shall disappear, as the brightness of the 
little stars do> when the Sun rises. So says the prophet 



TO LADY PEPPEKELL 361 

Isaiah, "Then the Moon shall be confounded, and the 
Sun shall be ashamed, when the Lord of Hosts shall reign 
in Mount Zion, and before his ancients, gloriously,'' Isa. 
xxiv. 23. But, although his light is thus bright, and his 
beams go forth with infinite strength; yet, as they pro- 
ceed from the Lamb of God, and shine through his meek 
and lowly human nature, they are supremely soft and 
mild, and, instead of dazzling and overpowering our feeble 
sight, like a smooth ointment or a gentle eye-salve, are 
vivifying and healing. Thus on them, who fear God's 
name, "the Sun of Righteousness arises, with healing in 
his beams," Mai. iv. 2. It is like the light of the morning, 
a morning without clouds, as the dew on the grass, under 
whose influence the souls of his people are as the tender 
grass springing out of the earth, by clear shining after 
rain. Thus are the beams of his beauty, and brightness, 
fitted for the support and reviving of the afflicted. He 
heals the broken in spirit, and bindeth up their wounds. 
When the spirits of his people are cut down by the scythe, 
he comes down upon them, in a sweet and heavenly influ- 
ence, like rain on the mown grass, and like showers that 
water the earth. (Ps. Ixxii. 6.) 

But especially are the beams of Christ's glory infinitely 
softened, and sweetened, by his love to men, the love that 
passeth knowledge. The glory of his person consists, 
pre-eminently, in that infinite goodness and grace, of 
which he made so wonderful a manifestation, in his love 
to us. The apostle John tells us, that God is Light; 
(1 John, i. 5.) and again, that God is Love; (1 John, iv. 
8.) and the light of his glory is an infinitely sweet light, 
because it is the light of love. But especially does it 
appear so, in the person of our Redeemer, who was in- 
finitely the most wonderful example of love, that was ever 
witnessed. All the perfections of the Deity have their 
highest manifestation in the Work of Redemption, vastly 
more than in the Work of Creation. In other works, 
we see him indirectly; but here, we see the immediate 
glory of his face. (2 Cor. iii. 18.) In his other works, 
we behold him at a distance; but in this, we come near, 
and behold the infinite treasures of his heart. (Eph. iii. 
8, 9, 10.) It is a work of love to us, and a work of which 
Christ is the author. His loveliness, and his love, have 
both their greatest and most affecting manifestation in 



362 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

those sufferings, which, he endured for us at his death. 
Therein, above all, appeared his holiness, his love to God, 
and his hatred of sin, in that, when he desired to save 
sinners, rather than that a sensible testimony should not 
be seen against sin, and the justice of God be vindicated, 
he chose to become obedient unto death, even the death 
of the cross. Thus, in the same act, he manifests, in the 
highest conceivable degree, his infinite hatred of sin, and 
his infinite love to sinners. His holiness appeared like 
a fire, burning with infinite vehemence against sin ; at the 
same time, that his love to sinners appeared like a sweet 
fl^ame, burning with an infinite fervency of benevolence. 
It is the glory and beauty of his love to us, polluted sin- 
ners, that it is an infinitely pure love; and it is the 
peculiar sweetness and endearment of his holiness, that 
it has its most glorious manifestation in such an act of 
love to us. All the excellencies of Christ, both divine 
and human, have their highest manifestation, in this 
wonderful act of his love to men — ^his offering up him- 
self a sacrifice for us, under these extreme sufferings. 
Herein have abounded toward us the riches of his grace, 
in all wisdom and prudence. (Eph. i. 8.) Herein appears 
his perfect justice. Herein too, was the great display 
of his humility, in being willing to descend so low for 
us. In his last sufferings, appeared his obedience to God, 
his submission to his disposing will, his patience, and his 
meekness, when he went as a lamb to the slaughter, and 
opened not his mouth, but in a prayer that God would 
forgive his crucifiers. And how affecting this manifesta- 
tion of his excellency and amiableness to our minds, when 
it chiefly shines forth in such an act of love to us. 

The love of Christ to men, in another way, sweetens 
and endears all his excellencies and virtues; as it has 
brought him into so near a relation to us, as our Friend, 
our elder Brother, and our Redeemer; and has brought 
us into so strict an union with him, that we are his 
friends, yea, members of his body, of his flesh, and of his 
bones. (Eph. v. 30.) 

We see then, dear Madam, how rich and how adequate 
is the provision, which God has made for our consolation, 
in all our afflictions, in giving us a Redeemer of such 
glory, and such love; especially, when it is considered, 
what were the ends of this great manifestation of beauty 



TO LADY PEPPEEELL 363 

and love. In his death. He suffered, that we might be 
delivered. His soul was exceeding sorrowful, even unto 
death, to take away the sting of sorrow, and to impart 
everlasting consolation. He was oppressed and afflicted, 
that we might be supported. He was overwhelmed in 
the darkness of death, that we might have the light of life. 
He was cast into the furnace of God's wrath, that we 
might drink of the rivers of his pleasures. His soul was 
overwhelmed with a flood of sorrow, that our hearts might 
be overwhelmed with a flood of eternal joy. 

We may also well remember, in what circumstances our 
Redeemer now is. He was dead; but he is alive, and he 
lives forever more. Death may deprive us of our friends 
here, but it cannot deprive us of this our best friend. 
We have this best of friends, this mighty Redeemer, to 
go to, in all our afflictions; and he is not one, who cannot 
be touched with the feeling of our infirmities. He has 
suffered far greater sorrows, than we have ever suffered; 
and if we are actually united to him, the union can never 
be broken, but will continue when we die, and when 
heaven and earth are dissolved. Therefore, in this, we 
may be confident, though the earth be removed, in him 
we shall triumph with everlasting joy. Now, when 
storms and tempests arise, we may resort to him, who 
is a hiding place from the storm, and a covert from the 
tempest. When we thirst, we may come to him, who is 
as rivers of water in a dry place. When we are weary, 
we may go to him, who is as the shadow of a great rock 
in a weary land. Having found him, who is as the apple- 
tree among the trees of the wood, we may sit under his 
shadow with great delight, and his fruit will be sweet to 
our taste. Christ said to his disciples, "In the world ye 
shall have tribulation ; but in me ye shall have peace." 
If we are united to him, we shall be like a tree planted 
by the waters, and that spreadeth out its roots by the 
river, that shall not see when heat cometh, but its leaf 
shall ever be green, and it shall not be careful in the 
year of drought, neither shall it cease from yielding 
fruit. He will now be our light in darkness; our morn- 
ing-star, shining as the sure harbinger of approaching 
day. In a little time, he will arise on our souls, as the 
Sun in his glory; and our Sun shall no more go down, 
and there shall be no interposing cloud — no veil on his 



364 JONATHAN EDWAKDS 

face, or on our hearts; but the Lord shall be our ever- 
lasting light, and our Redeemer our glory. 

That this glorious Redeemer would manifest his glory 
and love to your mind, and apply what little I have said 
on this subject, to your consolation, in all your afflictions, 
and abundantly reward your kindness and generosity to 
me, while I was at Kittery ; is the fervent prayer. Madam, 
of 

Tour Ladyship's most obliged 
and affectionate friend, 
and most humble servant, 

Jonathan Edwards. 



TO THE TRUSTEES OP NASSAU HALL 

Stockbridge, Oct. 19, 1757. 
Rev, and Hon, Gentlemen, 

I was not a little surprised, on receiving the unexpected 
notice, of your having made choice of me, to succeed the 
late President Burr, as the Head of Nassau Hall. — I am 
much in doubt, whether I am called to undertake the 
business, which you have done me the unmerited honour 
to choose me for. — If some regard may be had to my out- 
ward comfort, I might raention the many inconveniences, 
and great detriment, which may be sustained, by my 
removing, with my numerous family, so far from all the 
estate I have in the world, (without any prospect of 
disposing of it, under present circumstances, but with 
great loss,) now when we have scarcely got over the 
trouble and damage, sustained by our removal from 
Northampton, and have but just begun to have our affairs 
in a comfortable situation, for a subsistence in this place; 
and the expense I must immediately be at, to put myself 
into circumstances, tolerably comporting with the needful 
support of the honours of the office I am invited to ; which 
will not well consist with my ability. 

But this is not my main objection. The chief diffi- 
culties in my mind, in the way of accepting this im- 
portant and arduous office, are these two: Pirst, my own 
defects, unfitting me for such an undertaking, many of 
which are generally known; besides others, of which my 
iwn heart is conscious. — I have a constitution, in many 



TO THE TEUSTEES OF NASSAU HALL 365 

respects peculiarly unhappy, attended with flaccid solids, 
vapid, sizy and scarce fluids, and a low tide of spirits; 
often occasioning a kind of childish weakness and con- 
temptibleness of speech, presence, and demeanor, with a 
disagreeable dulness and stiffness, much unfitting me for 
conversation, but more especially for the government of 
a college. — This makes me shrink at the thoughts of 
taking upon me, in the decline of life, such a new and 
great business, attended with such a multiplicity of 
cares, and requiring such a degree of activity, alertness, 
and spirit of government; especially as succeeding one 
so remarkably well qualified in these respects, giving 
occasion to every one to remark the wide difference. I 
am also deficient in some parts of learning, particularly 
in Algebra, and the higher parts of Mathematics, and in 
the Greek Classics; my Greek learning having been 
chiefly in the New Testament. — The other thing is this; 
that my engaging in this business will not well consist 
with those views, and that course of employ in my study, 
which have long engaged and swallowed up my mind, and 
been the chief entertainment and delight of my life. 

And here, honoured Sirs, (emboldened, by the testi- 
mony I have now received of your unmerited esteem, to 
rely on your candour,) I will with freedom open myself 
to you. 

My method of study, from my first beginning the work 
of the ministry, has been very much by writing; applying 
myself, in this way, to improve every important hint ; pur- 
suing the clue to my utmost, when any thing in reading, 
meditation, or conversation, has been suggested to my 
mind, that seemed to promise light, in any weighty 
point; thus penning what appeared to me my best 
thoughts, on innumerable subjects, for my own benefit. — 
The longer I prosecuted my studies, in this method, the 
more habitual it became, and the more pleasant and 
profitable I found it. — The farther I travelled in this 
way, the more and wider the field opened, which has 
occasioned my laying out many things in my mind, to 
do in this manner, if God should spare my life, which 
my heart hath been much upon ; particularly many things 
against most of the prevailing errors of the present day, 
which I cannot with any patience see maintained, (to 
the utter subverting of the gospel of Christ,) with so 



366 JONATHAN EDWAEDS 

high a hand, and so long continued a triumph, with so 
little control, when it appears so evident to me, that 
there is truly no foundation for any of this glorying 
and insult. I have already published something on one 
of the main points in dispute between the Arminians and 
Calvinists: and have it in view, God willing, (as I have 
already signified to the public,) in like manner to con- 
sider all the other controverted points, and have done 
much towards a preparation for it. — But besides these, I 
have had on my mind and heart, (which I long ago began, 
not with any view to publication,) a great work, which I 
call a History of the Work of Redemption, a body of 
divinity in an entire new method, being thrown into the 
form of a history; considering the affair of Christian 
Theology, as the whole of it, in each part, stands in 
reference to the great work of redemption by Jesus 
Christ; which I suppose to be, of all others, the grand 
design of God, and the summum and ultimum of all the 
divine operations and decrees; particularly considering 
all parts of the grand scheme, in their historical order. — 
The order of their existence, or their being brought forth 
to view, in the course of divine dispensations, or the won- 
derful series of successive acts and events; beginning 
from eternity, and descending from thence to the great 
work and successive dispensations of the infinitely wise 
God, in time, considering the chief events coming to pass 
in the church of God, and revolutions in the world of 
mankind, affecting the state of the church and the affair 
of redemption, which we have an account of in history 
or prophecy; till at last, we come to the general resur- 
rection, last judgment, and consummation of all things; 
when it shall be said. It is done. I am Alpha and Omega, 
the Beginning and the End. — Concluding my work, with 
the consideration of that perfect state of things, which 
shall be finally settled, to last for eternity. — This history 
will be carried on with regard to all three worlds, heaven, 
earth and hell; considering the connected, successive 
events and alterations in each, so far as the scriptures 
give any light; introducing all parts of divinity in that 
order which is most scriptural and most natural; a 
method which appears to me the most beautiful and en- 
tertaining, wherein every divine doctrine will appear to 
the greatest advantage, in the brightest light, in the 



TO THE TEUSTEES OF NASSAU HALL 367 

most striking manner, shewing the admirable contexture 
and harmony of the whole. 

I have also, for my own profit and entertainment, done 
much towards another great work, which I call the 
Harmony of the Old and New Testament, in three parts. 
The first, considering the Prophecies of the Messiah, 
his redemption and kingdom; the evidences of their ref- 
erences to the Messiah, etc. comparing them all one with 
another, demonstrating their agreement, true scope, and 
sense; also considering all the various particulars wherein 
those prophecies have their exact fulfilment; showing the 
universal, precise, and admirable correspondence between 
predictions and events. 

The second part, considering the Types of the Old 
Testament, shewing the evidence of their being intended 
as representations of the great things of the gospel of 
Christ; and the agreement of the type with the antitype. 
The third and great part, considering the Harmony of 
the Old and New Testament, as to doctrine and precept. 
In the course of this work, I find there will be occasion 
for an explanation of a very great part of the holy Scrip- 
tures; which may, in such a view, be explained in a 
method, which to me seems the most entertaining and 
profitable, best tending to lead the mind to a view of 
the true spirit, design, life and soul of the scriptures, 
as well as their proper use and improvement. — ^I have 
also many other things in hand, in some of which I have 
made great progress, which I will not trouble you with 
an account of. Some of these things, if divine provi- 
dence favour, I should be willing to attempt a publica- 
tion of. So far as I myself am able to judge of what 
talents I have, for benefitting my fellow creatures by 
word, I think I can write better than I can speak. 

My heart is so much in these studies, that I cannot find 
it in my heart to be willing to put myself into an inca- 
pacity to pursue them any more in the future part of my 
life, to such a degree as I must, if I undertake to go 
through the same course of employ, in the office of presi- 
dent, that Mr. Burr did, instructing in all the langunges, 
and taking the whole care of the instruction of one of 
the classes, in all parts of learning, besides his other 
labours. If I should see light to determine me to accept 
the place offered me, I should be willing to take upon 



368 JONATHAKr EDWAEDS 

me tlie work of a president, so far as it consists in,|&43 
general inspection of tlie whole society ; and tO' beJ8|^- 
servient to the school, as to their order and nietli Qj | &^ of 
study and instruction, assisting, myself, in the im:3^ES:te 
instruction in the arts and sciences, (as discretion should 
direct, and occasion serve, and the state of things re- 
quire,) especially of the senior class; and added to all, 
should be willing to do the whole work of a professor 
of divinity, in public and private lectures, proposing 
questions to be answered, and some to be discussed in 
writing and free conversation, in meetings of graduates, 
and others, appointed in proper seasons, for these ends. 
It would be now out of my way, to spend time, in a con- 
.stant teaching of the languages; unless it be the Hebrew 
tongue; which I should be willing to improve myself in, 
by instructing others. 

On the whole, I am much at a loss, with ii^pect to 
the way of duty, in this important affair: I am in doubt, 
whether, if I should engage in it, I should not do what 
both you and I would be sorry for afterwards. Never- 
theless, I think the greatness of the affair, and the regard 
due to so worthy and venerable a body, as that of th( 
trustees of Nassau Hall, requires my taking the mattei 
into serious consideration. And unless you should appea] 
to be discouraged, by the things which I have now repre- \ . 
sented, as to any farther expectation from me, I shall 
proceed to ask advice, of such as I esteer^ most wise, 
friendly and faithful : if, after the mind of tne Commis- 
sioners in Boston is known, it appears that they coi);sent 
to leave me at liberty, with respect to the business they 
have employed me in here. 



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